


what's left unspoken

by niente



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Kent’s Florida Beach house returns with significantly less angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Unhealthy Coping, Unreliable Narrator, alcohol use, continued abuse of metaphorical boxes, followed by healthy coping, no pancakes were harmed in making of this fic, straight up horrific communication, very confused boys trying to sort out their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-09 10:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 42,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niente/pseuds/niente
Summary: There’s a lot between Kent and Scraps that has been said over the years. There’s even more that hasn’t. But they’ve always had a funny way of communicating with one another.Kent receives a text message from Scraps and a call from the Aces general manager minutes apart. Within the next two hours, he’s on an airplane.





	1. mores and anomie

**Author's Note:**

> So this is that Scraps/Kent fic absolutely no asked for but I love obsessing over incredibly minor characters (read: why any of my cp works exist). I’m trying to make this consistent to the Aces canon I made for Winter Wheat (different ‘verse but I’m using a lot of the same history leading up to this point). A lot of these events technically happened in Winter Wheat, while some are implied in Malneirophrenia. I’ve provided a brief primer in the end notes if you don’t want to read WW. 
> 
> This was meant to be “Kent goes to see Scraps and they aren’t talking about their issues but then they work it out because of proximity cabin fic” in about 5K but I’m long winded and apparently an angst fiend, so here’s 40K of Kent and Scraps arguing and being very confused about their feelings and in general having bad communication skills. 
> 
> Warnings: Both Kent and Scraps aren’t always very nice people and can be downright shitty at times. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Check Please belongs to Ngozi who has very kindly allowed us to use her characters. I am in no way profiting of this story and these characters do not belong to me
> 
> As usual, I edit on my own so all mistakes are made by me and I'd love if pointed them out so I could fix them. I can only pick up so much reading through multiple times.

_And if you stay_

_In Winnipeg for the summer_

_Won't you please think about me_

_Out here in the country_

_Virginia, the Wooden Sky_

END OF APRIL 2015 

There’s a big smile on Scraps’ face when he first sees Kent. The tightness in Kent’s chest dislodges at the sight. Well, maybe it’s still clenching, but he can breath knowing he didn’t completely misread the message. It’s been a hectic five hours, from standing in his kitchen to the Winnipeg airport. But Scraps is there, tangible and happy. Perhaps the feeling in Kent’s chest – something wanting to just _burst out_ – is because this is the first time he’s seen Scraps smile since their second last game of the season. Barely missing out on a playoff spot.

They were Cup contenders. They came into the season hot, but a bad skid after Christmas pushed them out of contention. Kent blames himself for it – he let himself get into the _Zimmermann Funk_ (as Troy so lovingly refers to it) and his output suffered. By the time Kent pulled his head out of his ass, it was too late. The Aces were in for an uphill battle. And they lost. 

But Scraps. 

He’s warm and radiating joy, welcoming Kent to Winnipeg. And Kent feels at home.

“Parser,” Scraps greets. 

He throws his arms opens and Kent folds in easily. Scraps could easily still toss Kent over his shoulder if he wanted. Precision winger and the hulking d-man. Smallest teammate and the largest. They make quite the duo. 

They hug only briefly. It’s far too calculated for Kent. The rift between them having grown exponentially since December. He’s not sure where the misstep occurred, but they’ve been off for sometime now. On and off the ice. 

Pulling away, Kent slaps Scraps’ shoulder and grins. 

“Not big enough of a hometown hero to get mobbed at the airport huh?” he teases. 

It’s light and Scraps laughs, ducking his head. Behind them, a giant banner for the Winnipeg Jets looms. They made the playoffs for the first time, and though the first round isn’t going well for the Jets, Kent knows Scraps is over the moon. Kent doesn’t have the same feeling about his hometown team, but he understands. Scraps can be a homer and an Ace. 

The players’ gazes watch Kent over Scraps’ head. It weighs heavily on his heart and mind. 

“One day. I’ll just have to bring home two Olympic golds,” Scraps says. “Maybe get a rec centre named after me.”

Kent grins at him. 

“You’ll have to beat me first.”

Scraps reaches over and pulls Kent’s baseball cap off to ruffle his hair. Kent laughs and reaches over to try and stop him, but Scraps’ long arms keep him at bay. A polite cough lets them know they’re still in a public place. Kent’s left feeling slightly bereft when Scraps pulls away quickly and offers Kent’s hat back lamely. Snatching it, Kent jams it on his head and pulls the brim down low. A sense of shame washes over him. A few months ago, Scraps would’ve left a hand loosely clasped on Kent’s neck. Slightly protective and territorial – even off the ice. 

“Let’s head out,” Scraps says. “You’re paying for parking.”

“You cheap bastard.”

Scraps shrugs easily. He keeps a safe distance away from Kent as he leads them out of the airport and towards the parkade. Kent hates the distance left between them, but unfortunately has become accustomed to it in the recent months. Learned to accept it.

“Parking in Winnipeg is fucking ridiculous,” Scraps continues.

“You’re ridiculous. You’ve never lived in New York.”

“And you’ve never had a driver’s license in New York. Troy told me you didn’t get your license until he forced you to.”

Kent wants to claim he knew how to drive before that. Taught on backroads and the quiet streets of rural Montreal and Quebec. Bob Zimmermann, warm and encouraging in shotgun, and Jack jammed in the middle seat behind them, laughing loudly as Kent white knuckled the steering wheel. 

There’s a book Kent and Scraps silently wrote of things to never talk about. Anything positive related to Jack, enemy number one, has several dedicated chapters. Scraps will listen to Kent complain and rant, but never fondly reminisce. As of late, however, it seems like there’s been a moratorium placed on anything Jack related. An addendum to their never ending book.

So Kent doesn’t reply and Scraps doesn’t mention his silence as they make their way to Scraps’ truck. There’s an uncomfortable tension lingering over them as they drive to Scraps’ home outside of Winnipeg. Neither of them are willing to disrupt the quiet. Kent has a million questions burning him up on the inside. Surely Scraps has them too. Instead they’ll continue this game of chicken they’ve been playing since December. 

Neither of them are willing to break first; to admit fault or some feeling more complex than happiness. The two of them will sit in limbo, filling the space with awkward silence and unanswered questions. When Kent jumped on the plane hours ago, he was sure he could get an answer from Scraps. Even if he had to infer it. It’s always been their way. No words for the complicated shit, but that’s because there never was any. The two of them had great communication. 

Until – well Kent isn’t sure what happened. 

They arrive at Scraps’ massive property along the river. Shrouded in trees and a sprawling landscape, well maintained even in his absence. Kent has been here once before, when Arielle invited him up two summers ago. According to Scraps, this place is breathtaking in winter. Kent use to never want to be around in minus forty weather to find out. Now, he’s almost desperate for it. 

“Are you hungry?” Scraps asks. 

His voice is hoarse and echoes in the empty house. Around them, the building creaks as they shuffle awkwardly on the hardwood floors. 

The weight of the day settles in on Kent’s body. The rush of having to settle up everything in Vegas before he flew out. He had no answers for anyone’s questions. Troy had asked the most important: how long will you be there for? Kent shrugged helplessly. Until Scraps gets tired of him. The emotional turmoil – not knowing where he stands with Scraps – isn’t helping. 

“I just need to go to bed,” Kent admits. 

Scraps’ head bobs once. A tightly controlled motion. Kent catches his jaw tighten slightly and can see Scraps’ eyes make the visible effort to relax. He reaches out to grab Kent’s suitcase, but Kent beats him to the handle. Their eyes meet briefly when their hands graze. Kent looks away first and Scraps yanks his hand to his side, pressing it tightly against his body.

“I’ll show you to your bedroom.”

“I got it,” Kent says. “Same as before?”

Scraps sighs deeply and lets out a mumbled ‘sure.’

Kent tightens his grip around the handle and makes his way upstairs to the guest bedroom. It’s impeccably set up and tastefully decorated. Scraps’ older sister is an interior designer – no doubt she had more than a hand in setting everything up. There’s a framed photo of Scraps back when he was a teenager playing in the WHL. Before he was Scraps. Kent stares at the gangly teenager smiling up at him and glares. Kent misses that teenager. The one who freely grabbed Kent and threw him over his shoulders with no consequences during their first meeting. The volatile player who took too many penalty minutes. Things were easier back then. 

He carefully shuts the door behind him and sags his shoulders, finally letting himself go. The sound of the television turning on floats up the stairs. Scraps cranks the volume. Throwing himself on the bed, Kent shoves his face into the pillow and yells wordlessly into it before curling up, falling into a restless sleep. 

XXXXX

APRIL 2015 (II)

Kent wakes up as the duvet is ripped off his body. He has no memory of getting underneath it, but blindly seeking warmth out in the middle of the night isn’t a new concept. Scraps stands at the end of the bed, grinning at him. Suddenly, Kent’s nineteen and they’re roommates on a roadie again. Moaning miserably, Kent throws his arm over his face to protect his eyes from the natural light streaming into the bedroom. 

“Just because it’s the offseason doesn’t mean you can get lazy,” Scraps says.

Rooming with Scraps, the sunniest of morning people, meant Kent was never late to morning meetings or practices on the road (Troy had the honour back in Vegas, or the two of them when Scraps use to stay over). No doubt he’d have been a healthy scratch for lateness multiple times in his career without a wakeup crew. Scraps was doing Kent a favour by protecting Kent’s reputation. But there was also a tiny bit of fondness, buried beneath the irritation, to waking up to Scraps’ face every morning. 

It doesn’t happen enough anymore. Not since Scraps stopped coming over and they stopped rooming together on the road. Vets get certain privileges, but Kent’s spent his entire life with roommates. The space is nice, but Scraps, as always, belongs in a different category. 

“I’m not going for a run,” Kent mutters. 

Scraps scoffs fondly. He tosses the duvet to the side and grabs Kent’s ankle with his newly freed hand, shaking it lightly. Kent shivers from the contact but doesn’t pull away. They aren’t talking about whatever the fuck last night was. They are pretending there hasn’t been a wall between them the last few months. Scraps has never been a big talker in groups or crowds. He chooses his words wisely; using them sparingly. But with Kent he’s always spoken freely – even carelessly. Whatever the hell is going on has stopped all that. 

“C’mon I know you better than that. I booked some time at the nearby pool.”

“Sweet. You’re the best.”

“I know,” Scraps says, grinning cheekily. “We gotta get going or we won’t be able to maximize our time.”

Kent rattles his leg around uselessly, only half-heartedly trying to escape Scraps’ grasp.

“Breakfast?”

“To go. Now get out of bed and meet me downstairs.”

Scraps squeezes his ankle one last time before slipping out of the room. He almost skitters out, like touching Kent is some sort of illicit activity. Kent is left feeling slightly cold and bleary from sleep. But he gets out of bed mechanically. This is a dance they’ve done a million times. Kent has the process of packing a gym bag and crawling into the passenger seat of Scraps’ truck down pat. It’s automatic. 

Kent doesn’t even blink as Scraps presses a wrap into Kent’s hands, not even bothering to look while he simultaneously backs out of the garage. 

The nearest pool is a bit of drive but it gives Kent time to eat and digest his breakfast. They have to drive into the city, but there’s no unexplainable tension from the night previous. Just Winnipeg waking up. Kent admires the groggy city and misty morning. Scraps curses softly under his breath as the morning crawl affects his speed. 

Kent hides his smile away, keeping himself turned to the window. It’s nice to see Scraps so open. In Vegas, he’s always composed and feels a need to be a proper leader for the team. It’s appreciated, but Kent misses Scraps’ freer side. The one who still lingers on the ice when Scraps drops the gloves, reminding Kent of their rookie years. Untested and yet to be dragged down by expectations.

The pool is quiet when they arrive. The receptionist greets them with a small smile and assures them of their privacy. Scraps thanks her and leads Kent to the locker room. The next hour is spent in the silence of the morning, a silent competition between them in the pool. Who can finish their current circuit first. Who can do the most laps. Who can hold their breath the longest. Only the water splashing and their gasping breaths can be heard, echoing off the tile and filling the room. 

Sure, Kent isn’t a morning person but he appreciates it. Getting things done early and having the rest of the day to himself – he feels accomplished before noon. And he owes knowing that feeling, incorporating it into his daily life, to Scraps. 

Kent can’t help but smile as he hauls his body onto the pool deck. Their time is drawing to an end. Voices of the arriving staff can be heard around the deck, prepping for the day to come. 

“You’ve got the grace of beached whale,” Kent comments as Scraps throws himself up next to Kent. 

“You’re so damn fast,” Scraps pants. “Even in the water.”

“Water is just unfrozen ice.”

“Not sure that translates.”

Kent grins, flopping an arm and spraying Scraps with water. With only a grunt of disapproval, Scraps launches himself at Kent and drags them both underwater. The two of them tussle below the surface, Kent attempting to free himself from Scraps’ grasp. But the bulk of Scraps is too much to throw. Kent isn’t afraid, however. A single signal, a tap on the arm or a brush on the leg, and Scraps will let go. 

And before either of them get too winded, Scraps hauls them back up. With a push, he easily shoves Kent half onto the pool deck. 

“Still got it,” Scraps preens. 

“You’ve got like 40 pounds on me,” Kent complains. “It was an unfair fight.”

“Eat something then. Troy’s always saying you eat like a bird.”

“I have a nutritionist. _”_

“You could afford a burger or two. Might help you in a fight.”

Kent rolls his eyes. 

“Why would I need to put on weight when you’ve got my back?”

Scraps turns away quickly, ears pink. His face is flushed from exertion, but it’s easy to tell he’s embarrassed. Everyone in the league knows Scraps’ hot button is Kent Parson. Breath at him wrong and Scraps will be there, checking you into the boards. 

“Stop being the smallest guy in the league and I won’t need to,” Scraps mumbles. 

“Nah,” Kent says. 

He doesn’t say ‘I like it.’ Scraps doesn’t say anything either. But Kent’s pretty sure the message is loud and clear. It’s a good sign. Pulling himself out of the pool first, Scraps offers a hand and lifts Kent up as well.

“Regardless of if you’ll eat or not, I could go for a cheeseburger. I’m going to take you to the best place in the city.”

Kent really likes the sound of that. 

XXXXX

JANUARY 2012

Scraps took a puck to the face. 

Scraps took a fucking puck to the face. 

There’s blood on the ice and Scraps’ is being carted off. The other team is huddled around their bench and the offending puck has skittered off somewhere. Kent’s hands are curled around the boards and he’s stuck trying to catch a glimpse of Scraps. Everyone is doing a hell of job hiding the damage. It makes Kent’s stomach turn.

Troy has a hand curled around his bicep, holding Kent in place. He’s afraid Kent will do something stupid – run after Scraps, try to fight the guy who shot the puck. It was a hard shot and Scraps did the best thing, used his body to block it. Except one of the opposing players hit him and Scraps fell, putting his face level with the puck. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Troy murmurs. “We’ll see him after the game.”

It’s the third period and that’s really the only thing keeping Kent’s head from exploding. He doesn’t know if he could go much longer without checking up on Scraps. They’d get updates if it were in an earlier period - but Kent needs to see Scraps with his own eyes. Kent could throw up he’s so upset about the entire ordeal. It’s not the first time he’s dealt with someone getting hurt. Scraps gets hurt a lot, all things considered. But it’s the first time Scraps hasn’t leapt up, given Kent that secretive smirk, and jumped right back into play. 

Kent is absolutely petrified. 

“Scraps will bounce back. He always does,” Troy assures him. 

He squeezes Kent’s arm once again before pulling away. The linesman skates over with the puck, looking a little sheepish as he offers it to Kent. 

“I think Oyer would appreciate this. The puck that finally took him out of a game. Hope this doesn’t affect his ironman streak,” he says.

Kent glares at the offending puck like it’s his enemy. Rationally, he knows Scraps would love it. Like a first goal puck or first assist. It would be a badge of honour, especially for someone like Scraps. No other player could bring Andrew Oyer down. But a puck could. 

“Thanks,” Troy jumps in. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

The linesman nods and skates off. Troy hands it off to the equipment manager for safekeeping before dropping next to Kent, pushing their shoulders in tight. Normally, he’d say something encouraging. But he’s taking the Scraps Method. Silent and present. Kent is overwhelmed with gratitude. 

The game ends, Kent getting one goal in the last ten minutes just to shut the analysts up that he was rattled. Scraps is his friend, of course Kent is going to be upset by his injury. His face is surely already plastered all over highlights. He declines interviews and slips out with Troy as soon as possible; Troy drives him to the hospital. 

Kent burst into the room and is met with a high-on-pain-meds Scraps. His face is wrapped with bandages, not doubt hiding stitches along his jawline. Immediately, Kent sags with relief and throws himself against Scraps’ chest. 

“You idiot,” Kent berates. “There was no need to sacrifice yourself like that, the puck was going wide.”

Scraps grins, big and loopy. Kent pulls away and Scraps catches his wrist, keeping Kent from moving too far away. The attention Scraps is giving him is intense and reminds Kent of the focus Scraps use to have when they were friends with benefits. Even though it ended two years ago, Kent can’t help but be drawn back to the intimacy of those moments together. 

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ idiot,” he says. “Did we win?”

Kent scoffs. 

“Of course we did.”

“Kent scored one for your honour,” Troy interjects. 

Scraps doesn’t stop looking at Kent, still grinning. He hasn’t even acknowledged that Troy is there. Both of them will get shit for this later. Their weird co-dependent relationship is a never ending source of chirps for the rest of the team. 

“’Cause you can’t fight a puck,” Scraps giggles. “Not that Parser would fight the guy who hurt me.”

“I would!” Kent says heatedly. “If there was anyone I’d drop gloves for, it would be you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Don’t want our star getting broken in a fight he can’t handle.”

Troy sighs behind them. The asshole is probably enjoying this. Scraps is extra talkative on pain meds and Kent is feeling raw from worry. Together they’re a mess of emotions. 

“Well, Scraps, Kent did glare at the puck like it maimed his best friend,” Troy says. “And fortunately for you, we brought it for your collection.”

Scraps lights up and finally looks at Troy. He holds his hands out like an eager child, releasing Kent’s wrist, and Troy deposits the puck. The equipment manager has written on tape ‘The Puck that Felled Scraps.’ 

“To go on my mantle,” Scraps murmurs. “With my first assist.”

“Half a puck,” Kent reminds him. 

“That’s ‘cause you _stole_ the other half with your big show-boaty first NHL goal,” Scraps complains. “Lame.”

He adds the last bit emphatically and flops backwards into the bed. 

“Doc says I’m going to have a nasty scar,” Scraps says quietly. “You think I’ll be ugly?”

“If anything it’s just going to help your reputation,” Troy says. “Maybe guys will think twice before messing with you or Parser. “

“Good.”

Scraps turns to reach out for Kent again and Kent is ready to meet him halfway. But the door to the hospital room clatters open and Arielle hurries in. With messy hair and red-rimmed eyes, she’s a flurry of activity and the literal embodiment of worried (Kent would be that way too, if he didn’t have appearances to maintain for the media and a game to win). 

“Oh _Andrew!”_ she calls out. “I got here as fast as I could.”

Scraps pulls away from Kent and folds himself into Arielle’s embrace. It’s enough to knock Kent out of the reverie of 2010. He and Scraps aren’t a _thing_ anymore. He has no right to be so intimate with Scraps, especially when Scraps is in an altered state. Some guilt worms its way in the back of his mind, an angry feeling. 

“Ari,” Scraps whines miserably. “I’m going to be so ugly now.”

Arielle laughs. It’s pretty and tinkling. Kent normally loves Arielle’s laugh. Now it only grinds against his already frayed nerves.

“You are so stoned. You’re going to hate this later.”

Kent pulls back and edges next to Troy. He jerks his head at the doorway and Kent nods. Getting out of here is the best option. Putting the weird resurgence of the past behind him. 

“We’re going to head out,” Troy says. 

“What?” Scraps asks. 

His eyes meet Kent’s, searching for an answer. 

“We’re tired, Scraps. Some of us played a full game instead of living the good life in the hospital,” Kent teases. 

If his voice wavers, no one says anything. Or maybe Kent’s gotten a lot better at faking confidence. His bet is on the latter. 

“Don’t go,” Scraps implores, voice caught between desperate and dehydrated. “ _Please_.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Arielle promises. “Let them go, Drew. They look terrible.”

Scraps frowns. Kent looks away, willing Scraps to focus on something else. Finally, Scraps nods jerkily. 

“Thanks for the puck.”

“Get better,” Troy says. 

Kent waves goodbye to both of them before all but fleeing the room. Once safely ensconced in Troy’s car, Troy turns to him and doesn’t even need to ask. One look from Troy, non-judgemental and safe, and Kent pours his heart out. 

“Yes I know the Scraps-Parser thing was bad news,” Kent mutters for the umpteenth time. “I got a little too caught up in the moment. I’m handling it, I just need some separation from clingy Scraps right now.”

“I just want you to be okay,” Troy says softly. 

“I know,” Kent replies. “I will be. I just need some time and, as always, I’ll get the fuck out of my head.”

XXXXX

APRIL 2015 (III)

They return home tired and satiated. Scraps tosses Kent the keys to the house while he rustles around in the backseat, grabbing their dinner. Kent shoves into the house and makes his way to the kitchen. Without much thought, he drops his bag in the hall on his way. Once in the kitchen, he starts setting up in preparation for Scraps. 

It’s pretty late – the two of them having lost track of time at Assiniboine Park. Even though the drive around the city and out to where Scraps lived was long, Scraps flat out refused to drive through the city, even to pick up food. He gave Kent a number and they swung by a small, old school diner closer to Scraps place. It’s just hot dogs and fries, but Scraps insists the food is something else. Kent is doubtful, but he’s still in the mood to entertain Scraps’ fantasies. 

When Scraps enters the kitchen, he pauses briefly, watching Kent fuss. It takes a moment for Kent to notice he’s there. The only thing that tips him off is a prickle on his neck. 

“What?” Kent asks, trying his best to not snap. 

He feels a bit flustered, under Scraps’ intense gaze. Still, he has a soft smile on his face, fond, as he watches Kent. It’s non-threatening but Kent hates feeling as if he’s put under a microscope.

“I like how comfortable you are here,” Scraps admits. “You haven’t been here very much.”

Kent shrugs. 

“It’s you,” Kent replies. “It’s easy to be comfortable in your space. You’re like a constant, even in Winnipeg.”

“So either I don’t have the Winnipeg crazy, or I’ve fooled you into thinking I’m sane,” Scraps jokes. 

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Kent laughs. “Especially not me.”

Scraps smiles again, that odd soft smile Kent’s not use to. He turns away in favour of fidgeting some more with napkins. He only looks up when Scraps nudges his food against Kent’s elbow. They make their way to the living room and drop onto the couch. Scraps turns on the TV, putting on some nonsense Kent doesn’t have the energy to follow. He just shovels the food into his mouth. 

Maybe he’s starving, but it’s delicious. No hotdog has the right to be _this_ good. Kent grew up in New York – so no way he’s going to admit to Scraps that a hotdog from _Winnipeg_ tastes better than any food he’s ever had. 

“Dude,” Scraps cuts into his thoughts. “Control yourself. It’s just a hotdog.”

Kent looks at him questioningly. Scraps’ cheeks are pink and he’s steadfast in staring at the television. Kent jabs him with elbow. 

“Fuck you I’m hungry,” Kent says as he shoves the last bit into his mouth. 

“There’s no need to sound like you’re in porno,” Scraps shoots back. 

Kent rolls his eyes. He leans forward and sets his plate onto the coffee table, next to Scraps’.

“Sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“I’ll show you delicate,” Scraps says. 

He surges forward, throwing his body over Kent’s and pinning Kent down onto the sofa. Not to be pushed around, Kent leverages his knees between them and tries to shove Scraps off. Scraps puts his hands on Kent’s shoulders and lets himself go. Having all of Scraps’ weight suddenly dropped on him is not a pleasant experience. Immediately, Kent has to flatten his legs and is pinned to the sofa. 

Scraps grins down at him. Kent helplessly smiles back at him, drawn into Scraps’ orbit. Others don’t get Scraps’ magnetism, how easily he pulls Kent in. He’s known as a stoic figure, always at Kent’s back on the team. Other players think og Scraps as a force of nature, large and destructive in the way he plays hockey. No one seems to see the Scraps underneath – either missing it or not looking for it. Kent wishes more people would appreciate Scraps, but simultaneously wants to keep Scraps all to himself. 

They remain there for a handful of seconds, staring at each other and smiling. Longer than just buddies, Kent’s mind supplies unhelpfully. But Scraps doesn’t seem to mind and neither does Kent. Eventually, Kent finds himself losing feeling in his legs and forces Scraps off of him. For a brief moment, he’s proud at lifting Scraps but the look on Scraps face says Kent had help. 

The mood is good in the room and Kent feels confident. No other time felt right to discuss last night. Talking about it earlier would have ruined the day. Now, at least they can hit the reset button, pretend it didn’t happen, and Kent will know better than to bring it up again. As much as Kent wants to nail down his reason for being here, he could pretend everything is okay. 

He takes a deep breath. Scraps tosses him a sidelong glance. Kent tries to project a meaningful glance, tilting his head at the TV. There’s a confused look on his face, but they’ve always known each other’s physical cues. Scraps puts two-and-two together and turns the TV off. 

“We need to talk,” Kent prefaces. 

Which, in hindsight, may not have been the best opener. Scraps sighs heavily. His face becomes shadowed, angry even. It makes Kent want to immediately back pedal as the two of them shift to the strangers they were last night – each action tightly regulated and well prepared. The people Kent doesn’t understand how they came into existence. He craves desperately for cocoon of safety from earlier – Scraps’ body matched perfectly on his, smiling down at him as Kent smiled back. 

But Kent can’t do that. He has a reason for coming here. For cancelling his flight to Florida and buying a ticket to Winnipeg. He’s not going to put off talking to Scraps all summer. There was a tiny part in Kent’s mind that thought, if they had a few months of just the two of them, things would realign. It’s possible. But Kent needs to know what the fuck is going on with Scraps – why he’s pushing a wall between them. 

“I don’t want to,” Scraps says when Kent doesn’t fill the silence.

“Well we’re going too,” Kent says petulantly. “Because I didn’t come here to pretend everything is okay.”

“So you do have ulterior motives,” Scraps accuses. 

The mood sours. 

“Of course I do! You can’t just message me out of the blue with that kind of bombshell after weeks of radio silence and then pretend everything is okay when I show up!”

“Well maybe I want everything to be okay!” 

“It’s not! And I don’t even know what happened!” Kent says desperately. “You just shut me out.”

“I didn’t shut you out. You haven’t been trying.”

Scraps huffs and shoves away from him, putting a literal gap between them. 

“Fuck you,” Kent spits. “You’ve been a fucking stranger since December. I’ve been trying for months and you’ve been – I don’t even know what I did.”

He feels a little desperate as he admits it. Helpless and spiralling, his voice pitching upwards and wavering. It’s complete and utter exposure, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of Scraps. Showing him Kent’s concerns and fears.

“Of course you don’t because it’s not like you’ve ever cared about how your actions affect other people.”

Kent jerks back, stung. 

“That’s not fair,” he says meekly. 

“Grow up and understand people don’t have to explain themselves to you. Especially not me. And definitely not right now.”

Scraps stands abruptly and storms out of the room. Kent scrambles up off the couch. He stops himself from running after Scraps, from making the confrontation physical in some manner. He lets Scraps have the out. 

“Where are you going?” Kent demands, his voice cracks. 

“For a run,” Scraps calls back, voice tight. 

“We can’t keep pretending everything is okay!” Kent shouts. “You can’t fucking text me and expect me to drop everything just to pretend we have been cool for months.”

Scraps doesn’t respond. The door slams behind him. Kent rubs his eyes viciously with his sleeve, willing the tears away. He wishes he knew what he did – he wishes the conversation had gone better. He wishes he could read Scraps’ mind like he use to. He wishes Scraps wasn’t a fucking stranger anymore. 

Maybe this is what others see. A cold stone wall. Kent hates that more than anything – just being another person to Scraps. It’s useless to try and stop the tears now. Kent miserably makes his way up to the guest bedroom and curls into the bed, willing the day away and wishing for the reset. 

XXXXX

NOVEMBER 2014

To say Kent is pissed off is an understatement. He’s not sure he’s ever been this angry before. It frightens him a little, honestly. Reminding him of his father’s episodes of rage. But it’s hard to let go as he stares at the door, listening to Scraps drunkenly bang against it. The asshole has a key – not that Scraps is any good at remembering the important things right now. 

Scraps has been off for a few days now. Distant with his head in the clouds and refusing to talk to Kent. Which, Kent can deal with. He has moods too. He and Scraps have long learned how to respect each other’s space. Scraps knows better than to get involved with Kent when he’s in his Jack Funk. They still talk. A lot. Probably more than normal hockey bros. Then again, they’ve never had a normal broship. But there are certain boundaries they’ve silently put on their relationship. 

But they were at a club after a great game. Koci got his first hat trick. Everyone was elated and ready to get Koci drunk and/or laid. Kent was totally game for it. He was holding court at the booth as usual, making sure no one got too out of hand and everyone had a ride home. That rookies and the younger call-ups were adequately reigned in. That’s when he saw Scraps at the bar talking to a pretty blonde. Actively flirting.

It was wrong for so many reasons. Primarily, since Scraps is in a relationship. And two, it isn’t Scraps’ MO to pick up in a bar. That’s more perpetual bachelor Troy’s place. Kent dismissed it briefly, figuring it might just be a very forward girl. Scraps would let her down gently. But ten minutes later, they had moved to a back booth and were all over each other. 

Abruptly, Kent made his way over, intent on putting an end to it. Except Scraps told him to fuck off and mind his own business, effectively pushing Kent aside. He and the girl left the bar together, leaving Kent stewing in his anger. Arielle is a good person, waiting for Scraps at home. Kent adores her. Scraps cheating on her is unacceptable. 

Troy was no help, attention already captured by another pretty girl. He’d probably just tell Kent to cool off and talk to Scraps about it another day. No need to do anything rash. So Kent begged off early with the first group of old and marrieds, anointing one of the vets as the ‘responsible one’ in his stead.

He sent Scraps a series of scathing texts during the cab ride back to his apartment. It was pretty much an open invitation, Kent realizes belatedly. Glaring at the door, he listens to Scraps beg him to let him in. It’s pretty pathetic. And Kent has scraped Scraps off the floor of a dingy bar bathroom in New York after a horrific loss. 

Finally, Kent gives in, surging off of the couch and yanking the door open. Scraps stumbles forward and Kent catches him. He looks wild and lost, far away from the calm and collected man Kent knows. He wonders how many people ever get to see Scraps in such a state of vulnerability. Scraps’ fingers find their way into Kent’s flannel, curling tightly. He buries his face into Kent’s tee and moans lowly. Kent’s anger wavers. It’s so morose and painful. They stand there for a few moments, Scraps babbling nonsense and ruining Kent’s shirt. 

After a deep breath, Scraps rubs his head into Kent’s stomach and speaks clearly for the first time. He’s slurring, still drunk but it’s the most cohesive thing Kent’s heard him say in days. 

“Arielle broke up with me.”

Damn. She works fast. Kent doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or sympathetic that Scraps felt like it would be a good idea to go home after sleeping with another girl. 

“No shit. You cheated on her,” Kent snaps. 

Scraps goes rigid. He straightens up and finally stands at his full height. His fingers remain tangled in Kent’s flannel, more for support than anything. Scraps sways in front of him. 

“Never. I would never cheat on Ari,” Scraps says earnestly. 

Fucking really? How drunk is Scraps that he can’t remember the bar and the blonde?

“Bullshit, you left with that girl tonight.”

“No,” Scraps groans, a noise of sadness coming from deep in his throat. “I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

He breaks off weakly and shuffles forward, dropping his forehead onto Kent’s shoulder. His whole body sags into Kent’s and all of Kent’s anger disappears. He wraps a hand around Scraps’ neck and holds him close. His friend is so much pain and in denial. Kent drags them both inside, shutting his apartment door behind them. 

“We broke up last week,” Scraps mumbles. 

Oh.

“Oh shit. Scraps. I’m sorry,” Kent says. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have –”

Scraps shushes him, shaking his head into Kent’s shoulder. 

“No. Never, Parser. You’re my best friend. I just – I know how much you loved Arielle. I couldn’t break your heart too. I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”

Kent can feel his shoulder getting damp. He holds Scraps tighter. 

“Shit, Scraps,” Kent mutters. 

He navigates them to the couch, carefully arranging Scraps. He grabs a Gatorade and silently commands Scraps to drink. Scraps takes the bottle and carefully sucks it back. He makes a noise of appreciation. Lifting Scraps’ legs, Kent sits down with Scraps’ feet in his lap. Wrapping his fingers around Scraps’ ankle, he runs a soothing hand up and down Scraps’ leg. 

“Drew,” Kent says earnestly. 

Scraps perks up, looking at Kent through wet eyelashes and red rimmed eyes. 

“I love _you_ dude. I’m not going to hate you because Ari broke up with you. Sure I’ll be sad because we can’t all hang out, but you’re my priority. I care about _you_. I liked Arielle because she made you happy.”

Scraps’ surges upwards, pulling his legs out of Kent’s lap and flipping his body completely. He tackles Kent into the couch, wrapping Kent into a tight hug. He’s too big and has to adjust so he’s not squishing Kent, but they make it work. 

Scraps drunkenly nuzzles Kent’s neck. It sends Kent back to 2009, two kids with way too many hormones and in close proximity. He liked the intimacy they had, even though neither of them needed nor wanted a relationship with each other. It was safe. And a place where they both completely understood their needs and wants. 

“I love you too, dude,” Scraps mumbles. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Kent says fondly. 

_Just talk to me next time_ doesn’t need to be said. Scraps nods into Kent’s skin. He shivers at the touch. Scraps has never expressed interest in Kent beyond sexual. Likewise Kent felt similarly. Except every so often, he would allow himself to fantasize. How easy a relationship with Scraps could be. They fit together in a way Kent’s never found with anyone else – except maybe Jack. But with Scraps, the communication is far better. 

“She didn’t want to live here anymore. She hated being alone,” Scraps confesses. 

“Vegas isn’t for everyone,” Kent agrees. 

“I’m staying in a hotel right now, while she moves out.”

“Fuck’s sake, Scraps. Come stay in one of my guest rooms. Stop being a miserable asshole and remember I’ll always have a place for you.”

Scraps sighs heavily. 

“She misses home. I get it. We’re Winnipeg kids at heart.”

Kent has no such feelings about New York. The big city isn’t really his home. Maybe his grandmother’s house in Connecticut? Or his billet home in Rimouski? Kent’s never felt connected to a place like Scraps has. He gets homesick for a place he’s never had when Scraps waxes poetic about Winnipeg. Hockey has been Kent’s home for so long at this point, Kent doesn’t remember what it’s like to have a person to come back to. But with Scraps wrapped around him, Kent’s fingers knitted into Scraps’ clothes and hair – for the first time Kent wants one. 

“It’s always calling us home,” Scraps says miserably. 

Kent’s heart seizes. Scraps talks about playing for the Jets one day – being a hometown hero. He gets a little extra spark in his eye whenever they play in Winnipeg. Kent can’t understand. Winnipeg is so small that being someone – anyone – from there matters a lot more than being someone from New York. Kent doesn’t get it. He wishes he could. 

“Can I stay here?” Scraps asks. 

Like he even has to ask. Kent would give anything to keep Scraps here, in his arms, in his apartment, in his life, for forever. 

He nods into Scraps’ hair. Despite Kent’s better judgement and self-preservation due to practice tomorrow, they fall asleep on the couch. 

“Us against the world,” Kent mutters, familiar words feeling ashy in his mouth.

Scraps sighs sleepily in agreement. 

XXXXX

MAY 2015

“Oh Kent!” Mrs. Oyer greets. “Andrew told me you were staying with him this summer!

Scraps has her sharp eyes and mouth. Kent doesn’t get a chance to rip on Scraps for his full name (he’s known him as Scraps for so long now that calling Scraps _Drew_ is a foreign concept. _Andrew_ is out of this world.) Mr. Oyer steps in and shakes Kent’s hand firmly. Scraps’ smile is all his dad. 

“Sorry about the season,” Mr. Oyer says. “You boys had a hell of ride though. Never stopped fighting, even at the end.”

“Can’t make it easy for them,” Kent smiles. 

Mr. Oyer nods approvingly and he turns to Scraps, pulling him in for a hug. 

“Good to have you home, son.”

“You should come home for dinner more often,” Mrs. Oyer chides. “We all know you can’t cook. How are you going to take care of your guest?”

“Kent’s not a guest, he’s a pest,” Scraps says goodnaturedly. “And I’ve been busy. Kent needs a full showing of the city.”

“Taking in everything Winnipeg has to offer,” Mr. Oyer says, nodding. “It’s a beautiful city, Kent.”

Kent opens his mouth to agree, to compliment the mix of cultures and hundreds of little niches tucked into the tiny city. But Mrs. Oyer ushers them out of the threshold and into the house. Kent is bundled on to the tiny couch, shoved in with Scraps. Thankfully, Scraps doesn’t shy away like he has recently. Instead he relaxes into Kent, dropping an arm around his shoulder. 

Briefly pleased, Kent realizes Scraps is likely putting on a show of normalcy for his parents. To them, Kent and Scraps are the best of friends. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Mrs. Oyer asks. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Kent says. 

Scraps laughs. They’re so close together, his side vibrates against Kent’s. Kent has to turn away, unable to hide the pleasure on his face. Despite their current disagreements, he’s missed contact with Scraps an embarrassing amount. 

“So polite,” Scraps hums. “He’ll have a beer.”

“ _Scraps_ ,” Kent protests. 

“What? I know you want one.”

“How an American boy like you got so Canadian I’ll never know,” Mrs. Oyer laughs. 

“I played Juniors up in Canada,” Kent says. “Didn’t really go home much in that time. And of course, _Andrew_ here is a big influence.”

“Our son has no manners,” Mr. Oyer teases. 

Scraps laughs. Mrs. Oyer enlists her husband to grab a round of beers while she returns to the kitchen, checking on dinner. Kent is immeasurably pleased when the relaxed nature remains even when he and Scraps are left alone. 

“Is your sister coming?” Kent asks. 

“Nah, Mom and Dad wanted us all to themselves,” Scraps says as he waggles his eyebrows. “Were you looking forward to seeing her?”

Shoving uselessly at Scraps’ side, Kent laughs. It’s a little on the manic side. Thankfully he stops his mouth from blurting out that Scraps’ sister isn’t the ones he wants to see. It’s been lingering on Kent’s mind for awhile, alternating from the forefront of his mind to the back burner. But the idea of a relationship with Scraps has returned in full force as they sit ensconced – _cuddling –_ in the Oyer’s den. It’s domestic and comfortable in a way Kent desires to have forever.

“No,” Kent says immediately. “This is nice. I like this.”

“Cool,” Scraps says.

It’s a monosyllabic answer, but Kent can see his goofy smile and feel the pleased hum that follows. He may not be able to read Scraps like before, but the physical cues still remain.

Mr. Oyer returns with three beers and distributes them along with a deep question for Kent on the future of the Aces’ and potential prospects. Mr. Oyer has done his homework, aware of all the upcoming prospects including a recent trade for a blueliner from the AHL who’s getting his shot next season. A deep discussion follows, Kent eager to share his opinion and hear Mr. Oyer’s. He’s intelligent and well researched, so Kent appreciates Mr. Oyer’s view.

Scraps is silent, occasionally interrupting to corroborate a story or correct a stat. Otherwise, he’s content to listen. Kent can feel the intensity of Scraps’ gaze on him, even when Mr. Oyer is talking. It’s a bit overwhelming. But focusing on hockey, like always, Kent powers through. 

“No one will replace Scraps as my number one,” Kent says with finality. “There’s no other person on the ice I trust more.”

He turns to look at Scraps and finds Scraps staring right back. Kent smiles gently and Scraps, after a beat, returns it. Kent’s stomach flutters and he sees the genuine affect in Scraps’ eyes. There’s still the uncertainty with an unknown source lingering over them, but for now Kent can see that, at least, Scraps still likes him.

“Until you condition your rookie to protect you as his sole task on the ice,” Scraps teases. 

They’re so wrapped up in each other, Kent kind of forgets there are other people around. He definitely forgets that the audience is Scraps’ parents. 

“Oh honey he doesn’t need that, he has you,” Mrs. Oyer cuts in. 

The two of them jerk a bit, separating. There isn’t much room, but it appears out of the sheer need for distance between them. No longer glued together, Kent is angry with himself for playing an equal role in ending the moment. It’s the best _anything_ they’ve had in weeks. _Months_ even.

“I think Kent needs more protection out there,” Mr. Oyer continues on, like nothing happened. “He’s so fast that other players need to play dirty to keep up. Having two solid d-men to keep an eye out of him would make it easier for Kent to focus on the play.”

Kent feels warm at the concern. He’s only met the Oyers a few times before, but they’ve always been kind to him. He doesn’t really understand why, but appreciates it nonetheless. It helps him understand how Scraps became the person he is. 

“Enough hockey for now,” Mrs. Oyer says. “Dinner is ready.”

They all stand together; Kent and Scraps almost in complete unison. They bump awkwardly with each other, but silently arrange themselves. The dysrhythmia sorts itself out. It’s a step in the right direction, Kent thinks. Normally, they would’ve stood up in a way that prevented any jostling – already in sync with each other’s habits. But automatically sorting themselves out of it is positive.

Scraps ushers Kent ahead and into the kitchen. He lingers behind with his father, having a hushed but rather serious conversation. Kent flushes. No doubt the slight, lingering awkwardness is noticeable. Scraps may be pretending that they’re cool, but Kent didn’t get the memo. Not the silent one Kent would usually pick up and Scraps certainly didn’t give a verbal one. Mr. Oyer is probably asking if they should ask Kent to leave, save everyone the pain. 

It’s not like Oyers would support Kent over their own son. He barely knows them. (Kent’s fought this battle before. Parents will always choose their own children. Will always support them, regardless of how well they know Kent. How much they’ve claimed to like him. No matter how much Kent was part of the family.)

“Sit, sit!” Mrs. Oyer directs. 

She’s as tall as Kent and easily pushes him into the chair and starts offering him food. By the time Scraps and Mr. Oyer have taken a seat, Kent already has a full plate. He’s staring at the food, overwhelmed by how much Mrs. Oyer has put into this meal. It’s not every day Scraps is home for dinner, so she must want to throw everything into each meal. Belatedly, Kent realizes it’s Scraps’ favourite food, spaghetti. 

“You look famished, son,” Mr. Oyer chuckles. 

There is an awkward pause as no one responds. Kent looks at Scraps’ expectantly, waiting for him to answer. But Scraps just stares back, raising an eyebrow. He subtly elbows Kent as he sits down and _oh._ Looking at Mr. Oyer, he’s watching Kent with amusement. He was addressing Kent. No words find their way into Kent’s brain.

“There’s a lot of takeout,” Kent says uselessly. 

“Oh that is an atrocious. _Andrew Blake Oyer_ , I raised you better than this,” Mrs. Oyer scolds. “You’ll have to forgive my son, Kent. He spent more time playing hockey than learning to take care of himself.”

“Kent can’t cook either,” Scraps says, throwing Kent under the bus. “He’s even worse than me.”

Scraps smirks down at his plate, ignoring the dirty look Kent shoots him. Mrs. Oyer sighs dramatically. 

“That is not right! You have to come by more often. Both of you. You’ll waste away in that house,” she says. “When’s the last time you were home for a home cooked meal, Kent? Did you have time to visit your parents before you came to Winnipeg?”

Kent, thankfully, has a mouth full of spaghetti. A chance to prepare some sort of answer without appearing like a terrible son. So he has a strained relationship with parents – it’s not like that’s a bad thing. But with all the emphasis Mrs. Oyer puts on taking care of her son and the warmth of the Oyer home, Kent feels the tiniest bit ashamed. Well, majorly ashamed. He’s always hated parents’ trips. Thankfully he’s never on media those days and avoids having to explain why his mom and dad are absent. 

How does he say the last time he was home was for a brief day visit during a road trip in New York last January where he shared a tense meal with his parents before fleeing back to his hotel room? Kent tucks his head down and chews slowly, with extreme intent to draw out the pause. 

“Kent’s in high demand, Mom,” Scraps cuts in. 

A hand finds its way to Kent’s knee. Scraps squeezes once before pulling away. Kent’s eternally grateful. Sure he has a fucked up family life, but at least he has his team. Even if Scraps is distant – Kent still has him for now. 

“Ah, of course,” she says, subdued. “Well, Kent, you’re always welcome here. It’s nice when Andrew brings someone home.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Scraps groans. 

“What? I can’t like seeing my son happy? Kent is a good influence on you. I sleep better knowing you two have each other.”

“You should be more thankful for Jeff Troy,” Kent says earnestly. “He’s the one who really keeps us in line. When we were rookies, Troy took care of us.”

Scraps shoots him an incredulous look. One that screams ‘are you being intentionally dense?’ Kent is too pleased at being able to read Scraps than look too deeply into the message. 

Dinner passes without must incident. The Oyers get into a hearty debate over refurnishing Scraps’ old bedroom. (Mr. Oyer and Scraps: yes – Scraps has his own house in Winnipeg now. Mrs. Oyer: no – that’s my baby’s room). Kent feels only a slight pang of sadness, looking at his complicated relationship with his own childhood room; both a prison and an escape. He wishes he could feel as simply about it as Scraps does. 

Kent really needs to get into seeing his therapist more often. 

After dinner, Kent is shooed off when he tries to help with dishes. Mrs. Oyer enlists him to encourage Scraps into keeping his childhood bedroom, and sends the two of them to look it over. Kent feels giddy as he walks down the hall. He’s never been in Scraps’ childhood room before. He can’t wait to get into a look of what Scraps was like before Kent met him at eighteen. 

It’s underwhelming and disappointing. Hockey posters line the wall and the shelves are filled with awards and photos. Like any other hockey kid.

“So lame,” Kent whines. “Where’s all the blackmail material?”

“I spent most of my teenage years with a billet family in Brandon,” Scraps says, shrugging. “Not a lot went down in this bedroom.”

Kent starts rifling through the drawers. Old jerseys and a whole lot of nothing. He sighs in defeat and flops onto Scraps’ bed. 

“So you had no girls in here?” Kent asks. 

“Dude come on,” Scraps says. 

“What? I’m just trying to find out if teenage Drew Oyer had any game.”

Scraps sits down next to Kent. The bed isn’t big enough for two NHLers, but there’s definitely enough room to put space between them. Kent is quietly pleased when Scraps tucks in close. 

“Watch this,” Scraps whispers, mouth right at Kent’s ear. 

With his foot, Scraps edges the door closed. He twists a socked foot over the handle and after a few seconds it clicks locked. Kent whistles appreciatively. As far as moves go, that’s pretty good for a teenage boy. And it’s a pretty strong signal for ‘let’s make out.’ Scraps has definitely had girls in here before. 

“Colour me impressed,” Kent laughs. 

Scraps shrugs next to him. They lay there for a few moments, breathing quietly and staring at the poster of Bobby Orr on Scraps’ ceiling. Through the walls, Kent can hear the Oyers laughing in the kitchen. The faintest music can be heard and the clinking of plates against cutlery as Mr. and Mrs. Oyer clean together. Kent feels impossibly warm and safe, lost in the moment. He can’t place the song, but it’s old and romantic and feels like a dream. 

Unbidden, the panic starts to rise in Kent’s chest. It’s not wanted and the source seems almost impossible. The moment of calm gives away to the fear. This is all fake – an act. They’ll leave the Oyer home and the distance will return. Scraps will throw up all his walls and reality will sink in. He and Scraps are falling apart and they have who knows how much longer together. Kent could wake up tomorrow and Scraps could tell him to leave and that he never wants to see him again. 

The moment is too perfectly perfect. Too staged and too much like a final moment. 

“Hey,” Scraps says softly. 

Kent’s proud of how slowly he reacts, matching the laziness of the earlier mood. He turns to face Scraps and they’re almost nose to nose. Scraps grins at him, fond and full of warmth. Kent’s been in this moment before. The childhood bedroom, the boy who will never love him the way Kent does. And when Scraps’ leans forward, Kent doesn’t think. He _shoves._

Scraps tumbles from the bed, hitting the floor with a loud thump. He takes a lamp down with him. It shatters. The laughter is abruptly cut in the kitchen but the song continues, the singer crooning about falling in love. Kent sits up and presses himself against the wall, trying to disappear. No doubt the Oyers are on their way to discover the source of the noise. 

“Parser _what the fuck_ ,” Scraps growls. 

“I- I- _fuck_. I need air,” Kent stammers. 

He clambers off the bed and runs down the hall. He manages a thank you to the very confused Oyers as he rushes by them. Scraps yells after him, thundering after Kent. But Kent doesn’t stop. He’s on complete autopilot as he jams his feet into his shoes and out of the door. Out into suburban Winnipeg, Kent pauses on the driveway to run over his options. He has his phone and wallet. That’s enough. 

But Scraps catches him, hand closing around Kent’s wrist. He’s furious. There’s a red mark on his forehead that’s probably going to bruise. Kent can’t look at him right now. It’s too much. 

“Kent, you need to calm the fuck down,” Scraps urges. “What the hell are you doing? You freaked the fuck out of my parents.”

“I can’t do this. I can’t be here.”

He should call Troy. Kent should be anywhere but here, looking at Scraps and trapped in the past. It’s so typical of him to find himself in the exact same problem as before. 

“Why? Because I tried to kiss you?” Scraps laughs a little hysterically. “Does it bother you that much?”

Kent can’t find the words. He can’t vocalize the situation to Scraps, to help this all make sense and de-escalate. It’s all spiralling. Then Scraps lets go of Kent’s wrist, almost throwing Kent’s arm back at him. They shouldn’t be doing this here, not in the Oyer’s driveway, not while Kent’s freaking out. And definitely not right after Scraps admitted to trying to kiss Kent. 

“Why are you here?” Scraps snaps. 

That breaks the spell. Or curse. Whatever was stopping Kent from thinking properly. The anger clears his mind and Kent can’t hold his tongue.

“Oh now you want to talk about it?” Kent sneers. 

Scraps, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. He stares Kent down, angry and imperious. He has the upper hand and knows it. Kent has wanted to talk about this for weeks and Scraps has been pushing forward, able to pretend they’re okay in a way Kent can’t even fathom. Now, Scraps is allowing Kent an in. But Kent, being Kent, won’t bite. Won’t bend to Scraps’ whims. He won’t let Scraps’ childish behaviour drive the situation. 

They need to talk. Desperately. But Kent’s not doing it just because Scraps is finally pissed off at Kent enough. Nor does Kent believe Scraps truly means it. He’s being dumb – he’s challenging Kent’s own resolve. Trying to push him away and cause an implosion in their relationship. 

But Kent is done. He’s done pretending to have a fantastical summer with his best friend. He’s done waiting for Scraps to get his head out of his ass. Scraps can destroy their friendship from his end and burn all the bridges. Kent’s not going to destroy himself picking up the pieces. 

“Fuck you, Scraps. I fucking care about our friendship and you’ve been scaring the shit out of me for months. But I’m not doing this. Not tonight,” Kent says. “I’m not fighting you on this one. Get your house in order, I’m checking into a hotel.”

And Kent walks away. 

XXXXX

APRIL 2015 

Kent’s going through his checklist one last time before heading out. He’s got two suitcases packed and ready to go – a carry-on for the flight – with everything he needs for the summer. Kit’s in the kennel, his car is in storage, his housekeeper has been notified, and there’s no perishable food anywhere in the apartment. Tomorrow, Kent will be in Florida and free from the season. He’ll ignore the playoffs and calls and be alone until Troy gets sick of Vegas. 

He’s pulling his bags over to the door when his phone rings. Pausing, Kent looks at the caller ID and tries to convince himself this is a mistake. The Aces GM is calling him. That’s not right. They rarely talk. They have no reason to. Whatever it might be, it has to be bad. Kent is tempted to hit ignore and make it go away. He’s not Kent Parson, Captain of the Las Vegas Aces right now. He’s just Kent and Kent needs some self-care. 

But just Kent is still self-destructive and impulsive. So he picks up the phone. 

“Kent! I’m glad I caught you!” Hopkins greets. 

He’s always been rather brusque and rubbed Kent the wrong way. Interacting with him leaves Kent feeling slimy afterwards. 

“How can I help you sir?” Kent asks robotically.

“Well you’re aware that it’s Andrew Oyer’s contract year, correct?”

“Of course.”

How could Kent not be? It’s all the Vegas media is talking about. It plagued their whole season as the press hounded Scraps and the rest of the team for why Scraps’ hadn’t signed an extension. The speculation wormed its way into the locker room, affecting the team dynamic. Kent hated it. Contract negotiations had come to a grinding halt in November. Scraps hadn’t even talked to Kent about it. 

(Not that contract negotiations were a frequent topic. In fact, there was a moratorium on contact talks. For everyone’s sanity. But Kent had thought, if there was enough of an issue, Scraps would’ve confided in him.)

“Well, we’re reaching the July 1st deadline and Oyer isn’t at the table yet. He’s still an RFA, but we can’t risk losing him,” Hopkins continues. 

“What do you need from me?” Kent asks. 

It’s always something with Hopkins. He’s not calling to ask Kent how he feels about the new addition or if he thinks Moretti can crack the Aces’ roster this year. He wants something. 

“I know you are Oyer are close. I was hoping you could try and talk to him. Just push him in the right direction.”

Kent’s pretty sure this is against the CBA. He should contact his player’s association rep. There’s a right way to do this and a wrong way to do this. Hopkins is definitely overstepping. But Kent doesn’t want to imagine a team that doesn’t have Scraps. He can’t imagine not playing with Scraps. Maybe talking to him would help push Scraps in the right direction. 

It would be hard, given their longstanding tradition of ignoring contract disputes and the current silence between them. With some tact, Kent could probably get Scraps to open up to him. However, Kent doesn’t want to go visit Scraps with the intent of playing go between for Hopkins. Scraps is his best friend and deserves way more respect than that.

“No,” Kent says. “I’m not doing that.”

Hopkins makes a noise of frustration, but doesn’t argue, probably recognizing that pushing could turn ugly very quickly. He wishes Kent a good summer and hangs up. Kent stares at his phone in disbelief. 

They could lose Scraps. _He_ could lose Scraps. But Kent is in no position to ask Scraps for anything. Their frigid last interaction during locker clean up, where the only word between them was ‘bye’ (from Kent) weighs heavily on his shoulders. 

While his phone is still in his hand, it buzzes again. From a contact Kent hasn’t received anything from since March. And the last message was just an address to one of the rookies’ places. The one before that – February – was a pizza order. The last real conversation was from December with Kent’s ‘Sorry I was a mess. Thanks for being a bro’ and Scraps’ ‘don’t worry about it.’ Now Kent stares at the new addition. 

His heart yearns for Scraps. For their closeness, to be friends again – even if Kent can’t have what he really wants. 

“I have to fix this,” Kent says aloud. 

With conviction and no Troy to talk him out of it, Kent cancels his ticket to Florida and finds the first flight to Winnipeg. 

XXXXX

MAY 2015 (II)

It’s midnight and Kent has spent the past several hours staring at his phone, rotating between Troy’s contact number, his therapist’s, and checking flight details out of Winnipeg. All aren’t good options for various reasons. One: Troy made it clear years ago he wants no part of Kent’s relationship drama with Scraps. Kent put himself in this situation and Kent will deal with the consequences. Two: Kent needs to physically see his therapist and the number he has is for her office, which is useless. Three: He’s looking for flights anywhere but here and running away will really only make the issue worse. 

But his phone died about twenty minutes ago and he left all of his belongings at Scraps’ house. Kent’s not particularly fond of heading out into downtown Winnipeg in search of a 24-hour 7/11 that sells cheap phone chargers. No matter how many times Scraps has assured Kent of the friendliness of Winnipeggers, Kent’s more apprehensive about getting accosted by a fan. Winnipeg is a city, but it has small town hockey community written all over it. 

Tomorrow, he’ll charge his phone and head over to Scraps’. Depending on their ability to reset – Kent will either stay or realize his time in Winnipeg has expired. It was only a matter of time. Kent’s mostly surprised it took this long. 

But then there’s a knock on his door. Kent’s tempted to just ignore it. Worst case scenario, a fan spotted him and has tracked him down. Best case scenario it’s housekeeping. Either way Kent isn’t suitable for human contact at the moment. He feels miserable and knows he must look like shit. His eyes feel raw from unshed tears and his hair is disheveled from constantly running his hands through it. Not to mention the hallmark signs of a tension headache. Kent makes a note to stop clenching his jaw. 

The knocking becomes more insistent. Okay maybe the fan wasn’t the worst case scenario. Kent can handle pushy fans. A crazy person trying to get into his hotel room? That’s the worst scenario. 

“Parser!” Scraps barks. 

Kent groans and rolls over. Maybe Scraps will leave if Kent doesn’t answer. Maybe he’ll just assume Kent has fallen asleep. 

“Don’t be difficult let me in!” Scraps tries again, voice significantly less aggressive.

Perhaps even bordering on pleading. Kent sighs heavily. He doesn’t want to open that door. Every rational part of him says they should leave this until the morning. Nothing good ever comes from answering a hotel door past midnight. Nothing. 

But the heart wants what the heart wants and Kent desperately wants him and Scraps to be okay. Maybe this time they’ll get it right. 

Rolling off the bed, Kent makes the labourious task of walking across the room to the door. Scraps is muttering against the door, quiet nothings Kent can’t make out. When he jerks the door open, Scraps tumbles forward as he was using the door for support. He nearly bowls them both over, but Kent catches himself on a chair and places a steadying hand on Scraps’ shoulder. 

Scraps rights himself immediately, pulling away from Kent. It hurts and Kent’s still a little raw. It must show because Scraps flinches and looks apologetic. He opens himself to say something, but snaps it shut when Kent turns away quickly and shuts the door. When Kent turns back, Scraps has thrust a small Tupperware container at him. 

“Dessert,” Scraps says. “Mom was pretty adamant you got some.”

“I would’ve thought they’d never want me back there again, after I stormed out like that,” Kent says sheepishly. 

He takes the package cautiously. Inside the container, Mrs. Oyer has packed a napkin and a fork. Kent has to put it out of sight. It hurts his chest looking at it. When he turns back, Scraps has settled onto the foot of the bed. Looking up at Kent, he gestures to the spot beside him. 

“They were upset, but mostly concerned. I got my ear chewed off for it,” Scraps admits. “And my parents are use to outbursts. My sister was a bit melodramatic.”

Kent remains standing and crosses his arms. 

“How did you know where to find me?”

“This is the hotel we stay at when we play in Winnipeg,” Scraps says. “And the employees know who we both are. They told me what room you were in.”

“I could get them fired for that,” Kent remarks. 

He still deflates and takes the seat next to Scraps, leaving a respectable distance between them. Or maybe that’s Scraps. Either way, the gap between them is as wide as ever. Permeating into every aspect of their lives together. 

They’re both silent for a few moments, Scraps fiddling with his hands and Kent staring at the wall. He can feel Scraps’ body heat and wants to curl into it. If it were just another day, a year ago, they’d probably be wrestling or so impossibly wrapped around each other. Troy would only roll his eyes at their antics. (‘You’re just jealous,’ Kent always says. Troy laughs on cue. ‘You wish. I could do so much better than both of you.’)

“We should talk,” Scraps murmurs, barely breaking the silence. 

Kent opens his mouth to protest but no words come out. He’s too tired to argue. They should talk. He wants to talk. 

“Why?” Kent says instead. “Why now? I’ve been trying to a month and you’ve shut me out every time.”

“Because I’ve been an asshole,” Scraps says. “I’ve been childish and unfair. I hurt you and that’s the last thing I’ve ever wanted. It’s hard, trying to figure out everything in my head. I thought I could sort it out and come back in September and we’d be okay but then, here you are. In Winnipeg.”

“You texted me.”

“I didn’t mean come to Winnipeg!”

“How else could I have interpreted it?”

“Fair enough,” Scraps acquiesces. “What I’m doing, it’s taking a toll on both of us. It’s time to sort our shit out.”

Kent sighs and feels an immense wave of relief. Even though there’s no resolution yet, it feels better knowing it’s coming. 

“Can we start with you telling me what happened? Why you’re so pissed off at me?”

“It’s not really your fault,” Scraps says. “Things have been hard, since Ari and I broke up. She was right in a lot of ways, that I don’t belong in Vegas the same way I do in Winnipeg. And it got me thinking – I could come home. I could play _here_ , for the Jets. I could be with Arielle, I could be home. I could have a meal with my parents every night.”

Despite the earlier feelings of reprieve, Kent feels like the air has been sucked out of him. Scraps wants to leave. 

“Which is why your contract negotiations stopped,” Kent assumes. 

Scraps nodded. 

“I told my agent I needed time to figure things out. To get my head sorted.”

“And?” Kent whispers. 

His voice trembles and he hates it. But Scraps smiles at him. 

“I know what I need to do,” Scraps says earnestly. 

“You could’ve talked to me,” Kent argues. “I know we have our agreement of not talking about money – but this is different. I hate that you cut me out. I hate when people stop talking to me.”

The look of regret that crosses Scraps’ face breaks Kent’s heart. He can almost see them, five years younger as Kent drunkenly confesses everything that happened with Jack. Scraps just listening as Kent breaks down. 

(‘Don’t shut me out,’ Kent begged pathetically. ‘Promise me you won’t leave me.’

It was an impossible situation to put a twenty year old in. They may have been best friends, but neither were ready for any sort of commitment. It’s why they were only ever “with benefits.” But Scraps grabs Kent’s shoulders, gripping tightly and staring Kent down with his dark, intense eyes. 

‘Never,’ Scraps said with absolute conviction. ‘I promise.’)

“Don’t,” Kent mutters. “I don’t hold you to that promise.”

“It still matters to me,” Scraps says firmly. “You got fucked up and I played right into that role.”

“Just tell me next time,” Kent says. 

Scraps nods but Kent only half believes him. He asked Scraps to talk to him after he and Arielle broke up. Scraps didn’t keep to that one. There’s no basis. 

“I didn’t want you to think I was abandoning you. Especially when I wasn’t sure,” Scraps admits. “And being around you – it made it hard to think. I love being in Vegas because of you. You’re the best part about being away from home. I don’t feel homesick with you.”

“I would’ve understood,” Kent says weakly. “I could’ve gave you space – I would’ve backed off. Instead – do you know how fucked up I’ve been feeling about this?”

“I’m sorry,” Scraps says. “If I could go back, I’d do everything differently.”

Kent nods but he still feels absolutely miserable about it. What does it say about him that Scraps feels like he can’t confide in him? That every time Scraps meets a fork in the road, he hides it from Kent, afraid that Kent will be disappointed in him?

“I’m sorry too,” Kent says. 

Scraps nudges closer and wraps an arm around Kent’s shoulders. Kent leans into him. 

“Come home. Hotels are not Winnipeg’s strong point,” Scraps says. 

“Noted,” Kent laughs, but then hesitates. 

Is it really the right thing to go back to Scraps’ house? Sure they’ve discussed the major issue – but not what happened hours ago. Scraps tried to kiss Kent and Kent freaked the fuck out. 

“Let’s just forget about earlier,” Scraps says, clearly eager to set everything aside. 

“I still owe you an explanation,” Kent says. 

“Does it matter?” Scraps asks. “I know it’s rooted in your Zimmermann history. It’s a lot to unpack.”

“I should explain,” Kent tries again. “You deserve it.”

“And you deserve your secrets. Look, Kent, I don’t need to know every detail about your past with Zimmermann. I see it written all over your face. I don’t care who he’s playing for next season, I’m going to punch him the first time I see him.”

His chest surges with emotion. Kent presses into Scraps more, silently pushing his desperate thank yous. 

(They’ve never needed to talk about things. Scraps has always known exactly what Kent needed him to know, without all the gory details. But Kent can’t feel happy about it for long. He’s missed all the big things in Scraps’ life. Maybe they were never as in sync as Kent thought.)

“But please don’t punch Jack. I don’t want you to get in any trouble,” Kent murmurs. 

Scraps laughs, deep and low in his chest. Kent can feel it reverberate against his cheek. 

“It would still be worth it.”

XXX

JANUARY 2010

Scraps has maybe overstayed his welcome in Troy’s basement. Troy not so subtly implies that Scraps should back to his own apartment by mentioning possible food spoilage. Kent gets the hint and figures Troy is right. They’ve been on a six game home stand and after every game, practice, and outing, Scraps has returned home with Kent and Troy. They’ve been pretty caught up in each other lately, rarely leaving the basement. 

Troy more or less ignores the behaviour. Rolling his eyes and sighing like a long suffering sibling. Kent appreciates Troy’s deliberate ignorance. Privately, Kent thinks the casual nature of his relationship with Scraps is a good thing; a departure from the intensity he shared with Jack. And no one knows his history with Jack Zimmermann. There’s no one to disagree with Kent’s coping mechanisms and he likes it better that way. 

“I’m sure you could come back tomorrow,” Kent says. “Troy didn’t explicitly say get the fuck out.”

“I don’t know, he seems like a dude who likes his space. Two teenagers is a lot,” Scraps replies. 

“Maybe I should stay away for awhile.”

Okay Kent can’t do one hundred percent casual. It got him in trouble with Jack and it’s getting him in trouble with Scraps. It feels a bit like the world is falling out from underneath him, trying to comprehend Scraps’ rejection. 

“Dude c’mon,” Scraps says, shoving at Kent’s chest. “I don’t mean away from you. Just from, like, Troy. He’s going mama bird on you and I think he misses spending time with you.”

“Makes sense. But then you’ll miss me,” Kent says smugly. “I’m an absolute delight.”

“Of course I will,” Scraps says. 

He leans forward to kiss Kent. As all things with them, it ends up far from chaste very quickly. They separate only once Troy clears his throat, conveniently passing by the entranceway. 

“Most delayed goodbye ever. You do realize we have practice tomorrow?” Troy says. “Rookies have the worst separation anxiety, I swear to god.”

He disappears back into the house. Kent knows he’s lingering nearby though, prepared to give Kent a lecture once Scraps leaves. 

“Come home with me after practice,” Scraps suggests. “Spend the night at my place.”

“You’re tiny ass apartment?” Kent asks, wrinkling his nose. 

“It has its charms.”

“It’s sterile and barely lived in,” Kent complains. 

“That’s because he’s pretty much been living in my basement!” Troy shouts.

Kent shakes his head. But he really likes having an eavesdropping older brother figure. He’s never had anyone like that before. It’s a fun dynamic he and Troy are building. 

“It’ll be fun,” Scraps murmurs. 

“Okay,” Kent agrees quickly. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Scraps says. 

He kisses Kent one last time before shoving his feet into his shoes and leaving. Kent stares after him, feeling a little bereft. As expected, Troy returns. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Troy says. 

“It’s simple. Casual,” Kent says. 

“And you’re both not acting like lovesick teenagers,” Troy retorts. 

Kent turns to face Troy, frowning. 

“Look, I don’t know much about your past but I know you’ve been through some shit,” Troy says, the memory of Christmas still fresh in their minds. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 _This isn’t like Jack_ , Kent wants to shout. But Troy wouldn’t understand that, then Kent would be forced to expose himself. (Maybe one day, but not yet.) It would be more for Kent than Troy anyway, as Kent tries to convince himself he’s not getting into this too deeply. He doesn’t want a relationship with Scraps, that much is sure, but Kent never wants to stop. It’s complicated. 

“Scraps won’t hurt me,” Kent says confidently. “We’re best friends and adults. We talk and shit.”

“Barely,” Troy scoffs. 

Kent bristles. Troy puts his hands up defensively. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to insult you. I just want to be sure you know what you’re getting into. This kind of shit with teammates, it never ends well.”

“I know that better than you think,” Kent spits. 

“I figured,” Troy says knowingly. 

Of course he does. Nosy asshole. But Troy doesn’t push for details, doesn’t confirm any of his suspicions. Kent appreciates him still allowing Kent a modicum of privacy despite Kent being the most transparent individual on the planet. He doesn’t talk about Jack anymore and reacts poorly to any mention of him. Any individual with a brain could put two and two together.

“I appreciate the concern but one, it’s none of your business. And two, we’ve got this shit figured out.”

“Alright,” Troy agrees. “You’re an adult and I trust you. But I’m serious, I know I took on a lot taking the most emotionally damaged rookie ever, but I draw the line with talking about your relationships. We’re not talking about the Scraps things.”

“Deal,” Kent says.

Troy smiles. He lifts up his arm, offering Kent a truce. Kent eagerly takes it, sliding up next to Troy. 

“Am I really the most emotionally damaged rookie?”

“If there was a Calder equivalent for it, it would be yours,” Troy says. 

Kent grins. 

“Gotta be the best at something.”

“That, Parser, is the least of your worries.”

XXXXX

LATE JUNE 2015

“Someone is in a good mood,” Scraps comments quietly. 

Kent grins at him. He isn’t just in a good mood – he’s _buzzing_ with energy. He feels similar to the bacon sizzling in the grease in front of him. Little droplets visibly jumping around. Kent feels as if his mood is infectious. 

“Should I prepare the fire extinguisher?” Scraps continues. 

Moving into the kitchen, he bumps up against Kent and easily invades Kent’s space. In retaliation for the, albeit correct, attack on his cooking, Kent jabs Scraps with elbow. Scraps smiles softly at him. 

Everything about Scraps is _gentle_ this morning. His dark hair is curling around his ears, tousled from sleep. His clothes are well worn and comfortable. And the two of them ensconced in Scraps’ kitchen alcove in the early morning, calms Kent’s high energy. He’s still happy – deliriously so. 

Come September, Scraps will be an Ace. And for the foreseeable future. Kent received a succinct text from Hopkins saying the deal was done. All they needed is for Scraps to actually sign the paper and they’d be good to go. Presumably Scraps has a meeting with agent later today to deal with the legalities. 

But for now, Kent has Scraps all to himself. The way it should be. 

“I was thinking pancakes,” Kent muses. “To celebrate.”

Scraps lets out a bark of laughter. 

“Remember Troy’s birthday three years ago? This is my kitchen we’re risking now.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“The fire department got involved. That’s the definition of _that bad._ ”

Kent tries to grimace but the memory is too funny to pretend anything was actually bad. Troy’s long-suffering sigh and the resigned ‘Well, I was planning on remodelling my kitchen anyway’ as they stood out on the driveway. The photos were already on Twitter but Kent’s phone was the only one blowing up. Fines for chirping the birthday boy were something the team took very seriously. And this was _Troy_ to boot.

Scraps and Kent were 21 at the time – but still very much on the young side of the team. The vets roasted them for weeks and lamented having to deal with rookies. There was always a pity for Troy – his rookie was supposed to be just Kent but Kent and Scraps were attached at the hip. So he ended up with two. But Troy saw rookies as a privilege and a joy. Every time someone would mention Kent burning down his kitchen, Troy would always respond the same. 

“At least I have someone willing to try and make me pancakes. It’s more than any of you have.”

“You are lucky Troy has a soft spot for you,” Scraps continues. “I would’ve kicked you out for that.”

“The pancakes were still edible were they not?”

“Yeah ‘cause Troy was keeping you around for your pancakes,” Scraps teases. 

Kent looks down and focuses on the pancakes. As they start to bubble at the top, Kent carefully works the spatula under the edges. Holding his breath he flips the first one. It splits halfway and ends up mangled. Scraps huffs next to him, breath right on Kent’s ear. Kent’s ears burn. 

When did he stop being so cool with his feelings? He’s no longer eighteen and desperate for affection and attention. Kent has friends and people who care about him. Getting so worked up about Scraps’ proximity is not something Kent wants to deal with. 

“The first one is always shitty,” Kent mumbles. 

Scraps hums in agreement just as Kent flips the next one. It’s perfect. Kent makes a little pleased noise and turns to beam at Scraps. Not realizing how close Scraps is, their faces bash into each other. Scraps scuttles back, looking away. Kent tries to not look put out by it. 

“So you got the news?” Scraps asks, significantly subdued. 

He walks around the counter, settling into a stool at the island. His face is carefully constructed and Kent can’t read a single thing from it. It’s a test, he figures. After their conversation, Scraps is testing the water. But how can Kent fail? He’s over the moon Scraps is staying. So overwhelmed with joy he couldn’t sleep after Hopkins message that Kent went for a _run_. And now he’s making breakfast to show Scraps how much he appreciates him. 

“I couldn’t sleep I’m so excited,” Kent says, grinning. 

There’s a flicker of disappointment in Scraps’ eyes and Kent thinks maybe he should dial it back. Why though? Kent is supporting Scraps’ decision. This should be a good thing – unless, of course, Scraps is still feeling regret about choosing the Aces over the Jets. Kent over Home, in a sense, but Kent knows better than to frame it that way. (Doesn’t stop his brain from trying.)

“Do you think it’s a good thing?” Scraps asks warily. 

Scrap isn’t testing him. He’s guarded. Afraid Kent will be upset that Scraps still wants to play for the Jets, to be at home. Kent gets it. Sort of. As much as a person who’s never really had roots anywhere can understand the call of home. He understands wanting to be with a person so much that it doesn’t matter where they are. But not a place. 

“Of course I do. Even with everything,” Kent says hand waving and trying not to get too deeply into details. Scraps clearly doesn’t want to dive into it. “We’ll be playing together for a long time.”

“But not together _together_ ,” Scraps clarifies. 

Kent makes a face. What a confusing thing to say. They don’t play in the same line since Kent is a forward and Scraps on D. But Scraps has the highest time on ice average of the entire team – they overlap constantly. 

“You’re not on the same team,” Scraps says awkwardly. 

He’s looking away, refusing to meet Kent’s eyes. 

“What are you talking about? Of course we are,” Kent says. 

“Wait what?” 

“Your new deal – Hopkins told me. What are you talking about?”

“Zimmermann,” Scraps says, voice short and tight. “He signed with the Falconers this morning.”

Kent feels cold. He shouldn’t be surprised. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. He and Jack playing together – that was a pipe dream from a long time ago. Thrown in the trash long before they fell apart. Kent knew this was coming, he’s been preparing for it. He really needs to see his therapist. 

“Oh,” he mumbles. “You thought I was happy because Jack signed?”

“I mean it’s all you’ve ever wanted right?” Scraps says. 

He’s still not meeting Kent’s eyes. Kent wants to yell at him. All Kent has ever wanted to do is play hockey in the NHL – it didn’t matter with who. Sure for a while all he wanted was Jack, but that was more of a concept. They didn’t work. Jack was bad for Kent. Kent was bad for Jack. Well, who played with matters again - now that he knows what it’s like to play with Troy and Scraps. 

“I don’t give a shit about what Jack does,” Kent says and it almost sounds like it’s not a lie. 

He sort of cares but that’s mostly because it’s taken some time to free himself from the Kenny-Zimms web of bullshit fantasy Kent built up in his mind. Years. The process has taken years. Kent has no fucking idea why he’s so emotionally incompetent that he can’t just cut out his feelings. Jack did it. He and Scraps both did it. Or at least, Kent thought he did. 

“Bullshit,” Scraps says so quickly and so automatic that it’s as if he was going to say it regardless of what Kent said. 

“I can’t believe the first thing you thought of making me happy was _Jack_.”

“Because that’s all it ever is with you!” Scraps snaps. 

“That’s categorically untrue,” Kent says weakly. 

“Don’t stand there and lie to me,” Scraps hisses. “You can’t pretend you weren’t fucked up the whole back half of the season because of Zimmermann. You can’t pretend you didn’t freak out at my parents’ place because of Zimmermann. You can’t pretend you spent the whole summer and first half of season keeping tabs on Zimmermann. Everything is always Zimmermann with you and you can lie to yourself about it, but you can’t fucking lie to me.”

Kent is frozen to his spot. The pancakes sizzle in between them, a pleasant memory gone. Maybe the memory with Troy wasn’t as nice either. The tight line of Troy’s face as he searched for a silver lining, Always looking for a bright side when Kent fucks up. It’s more of a reflex than a positive trait. 

“Fuck you,” Kent says. 

“No fuck you and your hang ups over someone who never fucking cared about you. Zimmermann fucked you over, Kent, and I’m tired of watching you desperately clinging to him!”

“Get out,” Kent hisses. 

Scraps doesn’t argue that it’s his house. He mutters ‘gladly’ as he slaps his hands on the counter and disappears down the hallway. The sound of the front door slamming shut is becoming too familiar. 

Kent looks down at the pancakes. They’re all burnt. The mangled one, the perfect one, the unflipped one. All ruined. 

He should stop making pancakes. 

XXXXX

DECEMBER 2014

Banging on Scraps’ hotel room, drunk at 2 am, in hindsight, is a very bad idea. But Kent has had nothing but bad ideas all day. Something possessed him to drive to Samwell in a flashy car, corner Jack, and make an absolute fool of himself. (That something is just Kent but he’s unwilling to admit his own faults at this moment.) Then he found some dive bar, hat pulled low over his eyes, and got drunk, ignoring his phone as it blew up. The only good idea Kent had was not propositioning some stranger and that barely counts as the bar was mostly empty. Only the bartender and the most pathetic people in the world. 

Now he’s at Scraps’ door, pathetically begging for Scraps to let him in. Fortunately for Kent, the team is full of heavy sleepers, Scraps has no roommate, and Scraps is a light sleeper. When Scraps yanks the door open, madder than hell, Kent collapses into him – a drunken, blubbering mess. 

Kent clutches to Scraps’ sleep shirt, unwilling to let go. He’s seeking some sort of comfort, a place to put him out of his Jack-induced misery. Scraps softens and drags Kent in. Kent rubs his face into the shoulder of Scraps’ shirt, no doubt ruining it. If they talk about this later (they won’t), Kent would hear about it. 

“Oh Kent,” Scraps murmurs softly. 

Making no attempt to pry Kent off of him, Scraps settles them both on the bed. He removes Kent’s cap and throws it away somewhere and gently runs his fingers through Kent’s hair. Loosening the strands bunched with gel immediately makes Kent feel better. He sighs, going slack in Scraps’ hold and collapses on the bed. 

“I should get Troy,” Scraps says. “He can deal with this better than I can.”

“No!” Kent says desperately. 

He sits up too fast and the world lurches around him. The hand he sent to stop Scraps is shot into oblivion and lands uselessly back on the bed, just as Kent crumples in on himself. 

“Shit, I haven’t seen you this drunk since we were rookies,” Scraps comments, almost fondly. 

“Not Troy, anyone but Troy,” Kent moans. 

He doesn’t want Troy’s soft, but disappointed eyes. Who understands completely, but warned Kent against going to Samwell. Who never says ‘I told you so’ but the words ring so loudly between them Troy could’ve have screamed them. Troy always makes Kent feel better, but he’s only ever been platonic. Kent wants Scraps – always wanted Scraps. The intimacy they shared, even if it’s gone, is comforting in place of Jack’s harsh rejection. 

“Drew – just you,” Kent adds quietly. “Not anyone else.”

“Okay, just me,” Scraps promises. “Where did you go even? Troy was pretty pissed about you disappearing.”

Kent rolls away, ashamed of his actions. 

“I’m going to get scratched aren’t I?” Kent says instead. 

Scraps sighs noisily but accepts the deflection. Finally free of Kent, Scraps moves around the bed and settles in next to Kent. The two of them lie for a few moments, lost in thought. 

“You missed curfew. By a lot,” Scraps finally says. “Coach won’t be pleased.”

“You think I could pretend I was here the whole time?” Kent asks. 

Scraps laughs. Kent tries to pretend Scraps is not laughing at him and instead at the absurdity of the situation. Kent is 24 years old – he’s passed his wild rookie stage. He’s the captain, which means he has a reputation and code to uphold. In one night he’s fucked it all away. 

“Coach was the one who stopped Troy from organizing a search party. He knows, Kent.”

Groaning, Kent rolls over and plasters himself into Scraps’ side. Scraps allows him, even pressing into the contact. A tiny part of Kent’s brain tells him this is a signal. An even tinier, but always stronger, reminds him Scraps just got dumped and that _Kent-and-Scraps_ never meant anything real to Scraps. 

“Nobody is going to blab to the press. As long as you didn’t get spotted by a fan,” Scraps says, voice low and assuring. “Everyone on the team fucks up everyone once and awhile. You’ve protected us, we got your back. And if they don’t, I’ll make them.”

Kent giggles. Fuck drunk mood swings. But the thought of 6’5, 220 pound Scraps needing 5’10 Kent to protect him is ridiculous.

“I’ve never protected you,” Kent says meaning it as a joke but it comes off as miserable and desperate. 

He wishes he could protect Scraps. Take care of him – but Scraps has never needed him too. Scraps has always had someone else. Kent has only ever had – no one really. Troy and Scraps are here for now. But if Kent has learned anything, it’s that the bond of hockey is only ever temporary.

“Don’t be dumb,” Scraps says. “You’re the reason I got the A, otherwise everyone would still think I’m goon with a bad attitude.”

“You still have a bad attitude,” Kent says, smiling into Scraps’ shoulder. 

Scraps breathes deeply and it’s like he’s surrounding Kent. It’s the good kind of overwhelming. It drowns out the spinning world and the drunken lurch in Kent’s stomach. Kent closes his eyes and tries to will himself to fall asleep with Scraps as his metronome instead of his own brain. 

But Scraps speaks, voice rumbling through Kent’s body. He speaks low and slowly, trying not to spook Kent. It’s almost apprehensive, as Scraps doesn’t know the answer. They both already know. All that’s left is the confirmation. Kent speaking aloud to make it real. 

“Kent, where did you go?”

“You know already,” Kent says a little hysterically, pleading Scraps not to make him admit to his idiocy. 

“Please,” Scraps asks and that’s always been Kent’s undoing. 

A boy he loves too much asking for something. Even if it were the most precious thing in the world to him, Kent would easily give it up if it meant he would be loved. Loved and kept. 

“I went to Samwell,” Kent admits miserably. “To convince Jack to sign with the Aces.”

Scraps tenses. He inhales sharply through his nose and Kent knows he’s angry. He pushes away from Kent, forcing Kent to sit up so they can look each other eye to eye. 

“Please tell me this is a cruel joke. Please _Kent,_ please tell me you didn’t do this."

Not only is Scraps pissed, but his disappointment permeates the room. It sits so thickly between them, it’s almost tangible. There’s a bitter taste on Kent’s tongue. Maybe he should’ve let Troy handle this – looking at Scraps, the devastation and betrayal, is too much.

“I wish I didn’t,” Kent mumbles. “I fucked it all up. Jack’s never going to want to talk to me again.”

“He doesn’t matter!” Scraps explodes. “He’s a fucking piece of garbage. You can do so much better than him.”

“You don’t understand,” Kent mutters. “It’s my fault. I’m the reason Jack is like this, if I hadn’t –”

“Don’t say it,” Scraps says tightly. “You don’t deserve it, Kent. You don’t deserve any of the shit he’s put you through.”

Kent looks away, unable to look at the swirling emotions in Scraps’ eyes. The righteous outrage on Kent’s behalf is a nice touch, but Scraps will never really understand. He shakes his head and rubs face with the heel of his hand, trying to wipe the tears away. 

“I pushed Jack away. I got too attached. I – I can’t _do_ casual. Guess that’s my fucked up upbringing, huh?” Kent laughs at his own shitty, macabre joke. “Jack freaked out. I’m not worth it. I’m unloveable.”

“You are not,” Scraps says emphatically. 

He lunges forward, pulling Kent into a tight hug and shoving them back down into the mattress. 

“I love you asshole. Troy loves you. We love every stupid thing about you,” Scraps says. “Do you understand that?”

Kent nods just so Scraps will shut up. They don’t love him. Not the way Kent wants. But Scraps keeps talking, rambling nothings about how awesome Kent is. So Kent squeezes his eyes shut and tries his best to drown Scraps by sleeping. Eventually, he manages to slip into unconsciousness. 

The next morning, he’s embarrassed by his drunken vulnerability and tries to play it off as his drunk brain exaggerating everything. Kent tries to believe that himself. He doesn’t want to be insecure but he’s feel raw from yesterday’s confrontation and it’s all too easy to think he always the pathetic mess with spiralling thoughts. To know that he’s always been unwanted. The crushing loneliness really only does come out when Kent is drunk or in an altered state of mind. Really. He can be normal and happy as long as he avoids being alone in his own mind. 

Troy chews him out at breakfast but still pulls him a tight hug with a quiet apology. Kent thinks of a half a dozen things it could be for but none seem to fit. Scraps hovers despite Kent’s best efforts to shut him down. Another thing Kent tries not to think too deeply about it. Coach is mad and Kent promises not to slip up again. He’s scratched and the official story Kent has the flu. 

When he’s throwing up in his hotel room, having missed the bus, Kent thinks he can live the lie. 

XXXXX

JULY 4th 2015

“Happy Birthday!” Troy greets. “How are you doing?”

Kent folds himself into Troy’s hug. Troy isn’t a touchy-feely guy but has always opened himself up to Kent, recognizing Kent’s need for contact. It’s nice to have Troy in Winnipeg, an ally in the war that is Scraps’ mood swings. 

“I’m fine,” Kent says. 

“Just fine?” Troy presses. “You don’t look fine. You don’t sound fine. Your texts are fucking killing me, Parser.”

Kent tenses. He wants to talk about it, wants to tell Troy everything. But there’s a long in place rule. No talking about the Scraps and Kent thing. 

“Trust me, it’s not something you want to hear about,” Kent says. 

“I want to hear everything that’s bothering you,” Troy says earnestly. 

“Not this,” Kent says and when Troy opens his mouth to protest, Kent adds “drop it” rather harshly. 

He ignores Troy’s hurt look. 

“Where’s Scraps?”

Being a moody asshole back at his house. Some birthday it’s been, Kent having to drive to the airport all by himself to pick Troy up while Scraps stays at home and sulks. There was no reset button on that last fight. Scraps came home in a stormy mood and stared at the burnt pancakes in the trash. But Scraps hasn’t kicked Kent out and Kent has continued to stay for some fucking reason. They continue on a careful charade and the thin protection of ‘not talking about’ to keep sort of normalcy at bay. At one point, it had been so easy to be around Scraps. Now it’s an exhausting task to merely exist in each other’s presence. 

They even went to the Forks on Canada Day and watched the fireworks together. It was radio silence between the two of them, but Kent couldn’t help but smile as Scraps offered to split a tiny bag of mini donuts and they watched the fireworks on the banks of the Red River. 

Kent shrugs in reply to Troy’s questions because his words can’t be trusted. 

“So what are we doing tonight?”

Troy’s here for the day, leaving tomorrow. It’s all he can fit into his apparently very busy summer schedule. But having Troy here is all Kent wants for his birthday (that and for Scraps to look him in the eye again), so Troy made the time. It’s no massive beach party in Florida, but all Kent needs are the two most important people in his life. Even if things are weird with one of them. 

“We’re heading to a club Scraps swears is cool,” Kent says. “But it’s Winnipeg. It’s not exactly known for its club scene.”

“As long as there’s alcohol and loud music, it’ll do,” Troy says. “It’s no Vegas, but we can make it work.”

Kent smiles. He’s missed Troy so desperately. They ride back to Scraps’ house, shooting the shit. Kent points out everything he knows and talks about all the places Scraps has taken him. Troy teases him, asking Kent if he’ll be wearing a navy sweater next season instead of a black one. The chirp slides off of him easily but Kent almost gives himself away when he stops to realize how well he’s rolling with the punches. As per Kent’s early request, Troy lets it slide. 

When they arrive at Scraps’ house, Scraps is on the front step waiting for them. He smiles when he sees Troy but it immediately falls from his face. When Kent turns back to Troy, expecting him to be just as thrilled to see Scraps, he’s scowling. Whatever happened quickly vanishes and both of them are smiling again. The grins are sharp, however, too pointed and aggressive. 

“Hey scarface,” Troy says. “Looking ugly as ever.”

“How’s your shambling body doing? Can your knee tell you when it’s going to rain?” Scraps shoots back. 

Scraps welcomes them back into the house and Kent is surprised at how normal he feels. That it’s not filled with oppressive silence as he and Scraps go automatically throughout their day. A well established, silent routine exists. Speaking is unnecessary. 

“Place looks nice,” Troy compliments. “Really has some life, not like when I was here last.”

“Parser never puts any of his shit away so it makes it seem more homey,” Scraps says. “It’s kind of nice though.”

Kent can’t tell if it’s a compliment or a thinly veiled insult. It’s impossible to tell Scraps these days. The safe option is to assume it wasn’t kind, but to pretend Scraps isn’t trying to start another fight. Maybe if Kent stops rising to the bait, Scraps will stop casting his line. Or Scraps is hoping to drive Kent out of his house.

“Definitely more lived in,” Troy agrees. “Which reminds me, when are you coming home, Parser? Vegas misses you.”

Scraps is caught off guard by the question. Kent isn’t. Troy is a sneaky bastard and has likely been waiting for the perfect moment to spring this on Kent. The question has been asked more times than Kent can handle, but he’s managed to deflect every time. However, Troy knows he’s got Kent now. In reality, Kent actually has an answer. 

“Late July,” Kent answers. “When the prospect camp and tryouts are happening. The front office wants me to help guide some of our new rookies.”

“I didn’t know that,” Scraps says quietly. 

Kent wants to scream. Scraps doesn’t even want him here. Then he’s going to turn around and pull this ‘I’m hurt’ bullshit. Kent doesn’t even know why he’s still here. The part of him that thinks he and Scraps can sort this out is getting more desperate and crazier every day. The reason to stay here is getting thinner and thinner. 

“I was going to tell you,” Kent shoots back.

The mean ‘if you weren’t shutting me out like a fucking asshole’ goes unsaid. Scraps flinches and Kent knows he gets the message. 

“Whatever. I’m going to get ready, our reservation is in an hour and parking’s going to be a bitch,” Scraps grumbles. 

Kent has Scraps’ back memorized at this point. Watching him walk away doesn’t get any easier, though. Mostly just resigned acceptance and the loneliness creeping out of the box only drunk Kent is stupid enough to open. 

“Okay what the fuck,” Troy asks. 

Kent sighs heavily, shoulders sagging. 

“Sorry you had to see that, but it’s basically my life these days.”

Troy sets his heavy, disappointed gaze onto Kent and Kent feels small, like a child. He shirks away from it. Under the look, Kent recognizes Troy’s concern. 

“Why are you staying here? You can’t let him treat you like this.”

“I’m dealing. We’re working through our shit. Look – I don’t want to talk about it.”

Kent’s lying. He wants to scream it out at the top of his lungs. Climb to the tallest peak in Winnipeg (an artificial river bank or garbage hill) and shout out everything out. That he wants Scraps – that he wants to be with Scraps way more than Scraps wants him. That Scraps is pissed off at him for reasons Kent can’t discern – it seems to change with every piece of information Kent collects. But Troy laid the law down. Because Kent was young and so _fucking_ stupid. 

“Look, I just need my best friend here. I just want to have a good birthday and maybe by September we’ll have all our shit sorted.”

“Is this why you’ve been so weird? You and Scraps are having fucking issues? I knew this would happen. Parser, let me – ”

Kent puts a hand up. 

“ _Jeff,”_ he says brokenly. “Please.”

Troy looks defeated. Not angry or annoyed or vaguely smug like he usually is when Kent fucks up and he was right. Just looks as tried and wretched as Kent feels. There’s not even a trace of the softness Troy gets when, after he’s said _I told you so_ , he opens himself up to Kent and becomes Kent’s anchor. 

He’s done. 

“Okay,” Troy says. “Let’s having the best birthday ever.”

And several hours later – it’s almost looking like it might be that way. Scraps comes out and aggressively pretends everything is okay. He dodges Troy for a few moments before realizing Troy is on the same page he and Kent have been stuck on all summer. Not talking about it. They’re all together in this mess now and Kent despises it with every fibre of his being. 

The club Scraps recommended is pretty decent, for Winnipeg. Not that Kent has much experience with the Winnipeg club scene. But his life is based out of Vegas, so Kent has _standards_. Scraps still knows him well enough and the club is the right balance of classy and a fucking party. Predictably, they skip the line and get a booth, holding court on a raised platform from the dance floor. 

A pretty girl is assigned to them but bottle service in Winnipeg _stinks_. Troy audibly sighs every time the girl pulls out the key to unlock the cage keeping their alcohol hostage. Liquor laws in Winnipeg are fucking ridiculous. Vegas has spoiled Kent. 

Scraps is getting pretty friendly with their waitress/keeper of the bottle, whispering in her ear and both of them giggling. He has an arm casually wrapped around her waist, keeping her close but not so much so that security needs to get involved. Kent is pretty sure there’s rules about hitting on the bottle service girls – they’re basically waitresses – but Scraps was pretty familiar with her from the moment they walked in. So Kent, begrudgingly, admits they must have a history. 

Despite their paid for alcohol being held hostage, the booth is nestled close enough to the bar that Kent can lean over and order a drink. The bartender knows who they are and prioritizes them. It’s Kent’s birthday and Troy is paying, but Kent makes sure to jam a generous tip into the glass on the counter. 

And Troy, who Kent thinks should be canonized after sitting through this, doesn’t say a word as Kent pointedly does not look at Scraps on the other end of the booth. He doesn’t even pick up, which Kent knows Troy is always down to do. Just buys shots and takes them like a champ. Best dad slash older brother figure ever. 

“You know,” Troy says, slinging his arm over Kent’s shoulder. He leans in close enough that Kent can smell the alcohol on his breath and catch the uneven, glossy look in his eyes. “It’s your birthday. You’re the king of this club – pick the hottest person you can find and take them home.”

A stupid part of Kent’s mind wants to correct Troy. His home isn’t here. It’s Scraps’ house and Kent is a willing prisoner. An even stupider part of his mind agrees with Troy and it’s the part that wins. 

“Fuck yeah, I am,” Kent agrees. 

He rises to his feet and surveys the dance floor. It’s filled with Winnipeg’s most beautiful people. There’s a tall woman with dark eyes, dark hair, and a sharp jaw that immediately catches Kent’s eyes. Picking up has always been easy for Kent. He has no set play or cheap line. He’s attractive in all the right ways and most people would leap at a chance for a moment of his time. And that’s just for people who don’t know who he is. Winnipeg is a hockey town. 

So when he slips next to the woman, meeting her eyes in the dark room, it’s automatic. Tilting his head, he looks for her consent. Not that he has any worries about getting rejected. When it’s just a fling and the person he’s looking to hook up with says no, Kent lets it slide off of him. Some people just aren’t into casual. 

But she smiles and nods and Kent closes the gap between them. The music is so loud there’s only a bass pounding in Kent’s ears, in his chest. But he lets that rhythm guide him as he lets the woman lead their dance. It’s not really dancing, mostly hands and rocking against one another. There’s not much space on the dance floor. 

It’s easy to get lost in the woman, in her scent, and her gentle curves under his hands. There’s not much to think about, the music and heat swallowing up all of Kent’s thoughts. They dance for what seems like forever, the music never letting up and the crowd around them bunching tighter and tighter together. Finally, they break apart and she smiles at him again. She’s pretty but not Kent’s type. Not even close. He still leans forward – they’re the same height he notes absently – and asks in her ear if she wants a drink. She nods and grabs his hand, leading him over to the bar. 

When they arrive at the bar, Kent remembers he came here with people. Chancing a look at the booth, Troy and Scraps are still there. The bottle jailer is gone and Troy has his arm around Scraps, going on about something. Scraps is staring straight at Kent. The look is intense and pins Kent down. He’s seen this look before. It’s burned into Kent’s most desperate dreams. The look of desire. 

“Fuck,” Kent mutters, overwhelmed by a cacophony of feelings. “I’m sorry. Your next round is on me.”

He slaps a twenty on the counter, barely looking at the woman before taking off. Fully annoyed, Kent marches back to the booth and glares at Scraps – still meeting Kent’s eyes. At this moment, Kent hates Scraps with every part of him. Simultaneously, he wants him more than ever. The loneliness and want – to just accept whatever Scraps is willing to give him. Kent wants him so badly – it breaks his heart knowing how goddamn much he wants Scraps. 

“We’re going home,” Kent says tightly, never breaking eye contact with Scraps. 

He nods sharply in understanding. Good. 

“Wait what?” Troy asks, somehow the drunkest of the trio. “What happened to your girl?”

“Shot me down. Let’s head home,” Kent repeats. 

“Alright, I think I need to cut myself off,” Troy says agreeably. 

He untangles himself from Scraps, but requires the aid of both Kent and Scraps to get him out. No one speaks, aside of Troy going on about his plans to build a pool in his backyard, as they make their way to the car. Scraps drives them home and Kent comes to the shocking realization of Scraps’ sobriety. He can’t remember Scraps touching a drink all evening. But Kent isn’t feeling drunk himself, the cool summer air helping clear his thoughts. 

Their eyes meet over Troy’s head and Scraps raises an eyebrow in challenge. Kent nods, mimicking Scraps’ earlier movement. Maybe this is what they need, to fuck it out of their system. Maybe afterwards, Kent will accept what Scraps is willing to give him and finally get over his stupid pining. Another boy who will never love Kent as much as Kent loves him to put in the box in the back of his mind and pretend everything is okay. 

(But Scraps has escaped from the box once, Kent’s mind reminds him.)

The ride back is silent and tense. Electricity seems to fill the car as Scraps grips the steering wheel. Troy passes out in the backseat and Kent feels so ashamed for getting him involved in this. No doubt Troy got drunk because it was easier than looking at the mess that is Kent and Scraps sober.

Back at Scraps’ house, they pour Troy into bed and he slurs out thank yous and one last ‘Happy Birthday, Parser’ before curling into bed and falling asleep. Kent ushers Scraps out and shuts the door behind him. 

He grips the doorknob, watching Scraps carefully. The lines of his back are as familiar as ever. The white tee clings to Scraps almost obscenely, the sweat from club having dried off in all the right places. Slowly, Scraps turns to face him. Kent almost doesn’t want him to speak – it will break the moment and alter the course of their oncoming catastrophe. 

“Don’t,” Kent whispers. “Don’t fucking say it.”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” Scraps says instead of the rational thing. 

He pushes forward, bracketing Kent against the door. Moving slowly, Scraps is clearly offering Kent as many outs as possible. They’re on this path now and Kent’s a master of self-destruction. It’s possible this was the natural progression of the entire summer. Arguments and shutting each other out for one last fuck. 

“You have no idea how good you look,” Scraps murmurs. 

He presses in close, lips dragging across Kent’s neck and his hot breath on Kent’s skin causes Kent to shiver. Somehow, it’s like Scraps has gotten taller since the last time this happened. Realistically, Kent knows Scraps’ measurements haven’t changed. Moving with purpose, Kent pulls his hands from the doorknob and places them on Scraps’ hips. Pushing lightly, Kent steers them away from the door and down the hall. Scraps accepts the redirection, not even hesitating as they reach Scraps’ bedroom door. Once there, he pushes Kent back against the wall and presses his face in Kent’s neck, inhaling deeply. 

Pulling back, he looks over Kent’s face searching for something. It’s heavy and devastating and Kent just wants Scraps’ hands on him. Something to ground him and make his head stop spinning. 

“I fucking hate you,” Kent mutters and is surprised to find he really means it. 

Scraps eyes go wide, losing the heat and intensity from before. He makes an abortive noise, sounding something like Kent’s name and is briefly startled out of the moment. Curling his hands into Scraps’ sides, Kent draws him in close and drags his mouth along the column of Scraps’ throat. 

“ _Drew_ ,” Kent hisses. 

And that’s it all it takes. Whatever is holding Scraps back breaks. He opens the door to his room and the two of them tumble in, clawing at each other for the lead. 

The next morning, when Kent stumbles out of Scraps’ room, wrecked and heart shattered into a thousand pieces, Troy doesn’t say anything. Just silently offers Kent a piece of his toast and his coffee, letting Kent curl up on the couch next to him. 

(It didn’t work, he thinks miserably. If anything, he wants Scraps more.)

Scraps doesn’t come out of his room for the rest of the day, not even to say goodbye. Troy grouses about it but continues to go along with the pretend world Kent and Scraps have built up. At the airport, Troy hugs Kent tightly, almost refusing to let go. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but _please_ take care of yourself,” Troy says. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Too late,” Kent laughs self-deprecatingly. 

It becomes a half sob and Troy squeezes him again. 

“Promise me. Say ‘I’ll take care of myself, Jeff,’” Troy says. 

They’ve done this song and dance before. Usually it’s because Kent is injured or going to an unadvisable party. Never have the circumstances been so dire or personal. Kent always promises. He usually keeps them, but Troy always forgives him. 

“I promise,” Kent says. 

“Thank you. See you soon.”

Troy hugs him one last time before leaving Kent standing alone in the airport, unwilling to go back to the Scraps and the relationship he continues to fuck up.


	2. Past, Present, & Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read the first part, left kudos, and/or commented. I really appreciate the support in my niche interests. 
> 
> Writing hockey scenes has gotten easier and I've improved considerably from actually watching hockey over the past year (I'm looking at my winter wheat stuff and cringing a little). This part contains my favourite scenes as well as the one I'm most annoyed with. 
> 
> Same warnings & disclaimers apply.

OCTOBER 2009

As far as first goals go, Kent thinks his isn’t that bad. Poppy gives him a face wash, shouting Russian obscenities, when Kent gets close to the bench. Troy is hot on his heels, puck in hand. First goal of the game, opening up the scoring and setting the mood for the season. The Aces are _here_. Two hotshot rookies, first and tenth overall. Kent and Scraps are setting the stage. 

“Fuck yeah!” Scraps had shouted, slamming Kent into the boards. 

It took a minute for Kent to realize what had happened. Kent was uncovered, the goalie was watching Scraps – who got him with the fake shot and had the no-look pass to Kent. Everything fell into place for Kent – this is what it meant to be in the NHL. This goal would be in the highlight reel for years to come. He saw it in his mind’s eye. Down to one knee with the snipe into the unguarded corner of the next. 

Except Kent had slipped on his way down and fallen right onto his ass. The puck still hit his stick and Kent made the shot. The buzzer went off and the crowd erupted around him. Kent had barely gotten to his feet before the team was slamming into him. 

“Told you!” Poppy shouts, wrapping an arm around Kent’s shoulder.

He wraps the other around Scraps, bringing the two in. 

“My two rookies. Beautiful!” he crows. 

Kent grins at his captain. Technically Poppy is Scraps’ vet, but Kent very much likes the idea of sharing with Scraps. They already spend most of their time together, playing video games at Troy’s house or practicing. It would make more sense just accepted Kent as his rookie as well. 

The Aces win off of the momentum created by Kent. Afterwards, Kent poses for the photographer with his puck. ‘FIRST NHL GOAL’ the equipment manager has written on the tape wrapped around the edge. He can’t stop smiling. 

“Don’t forget Scraps,” Kent says. 

He points to Scraps in his stall, watching the whole process. 

“First NHL point is big deal,” Poppy agrees. “Come, baby dman – points don’t come to us easy.”

Scraps lumbers over to Kent and gives him a smile. Together they hold the puck for photographs. 

“So now assists matter eh?” he teases. 

“Don’t remind him of breakdown over single preseason assist,” Poppy says, standing behind both of them – he dwarves both Scraps and Kent, which is saying something since Scraps is already really fucking tall. “This the real deal now. First real game – Hotshot gets goal. We celebrate.”

They pose for a few more photos with Poppy and the puck. Poppy leaves first, leading most of the team out with promises of alcohol and meaningless hookups. When the media and the photographers leave, Kent and Scraps are left standing, sweaty and half out of their equipment, holding the puck. Automatically, Scraps drops his hand and smiles. There’s an argument already brewing between them. 

“You deserve it,” he says. 

“I can’t keep this to myself,” Kent asserts. “It’s your milestone too.”

“It’s just an assist,” Scraps says shrugging. 

“No. This is a big deal. We’re in the Show now and every milestone counts.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Scraps says. 

“No you,” Kent shoots back childishly. 

“Oh my god,” Troy sighs. 

They both jump and Kent drops the puck between them. He didn’t realize Troy was still hanging around. In hindsight, Troy was definitely waiting for him. Kent doesn’t know him too well, but he does know Troy appreciates the party quite a bit. He assumed Troy would’ve left with Poppy and the other vets. 

Bending down, Troy scoops up the puck and tosses it in the air. 

“I’ll have Ray split this for you, then you each get a half,” Troy says. “That way both of you get your achievement recognized.”

“It’s just an assist,” Scraps says again. 

“It’s your first NHL point,” Troy tells him. “You’re never going to forget this – even if it’s just an assist. This is where it begins, Scraps. Don’t forget it.”

Scraps looks away, a little embarrassed. Troy reaches out and claps a hand on both of their shoulders. 

“I’m proud of you both,” he says and then pauses. “And since you’re both underaged, neither of you get to go to your own celebration. Not that Poppy will notice you’re not there.”

“Captain bring down,” Kent mutters. 

“Not yet,” Troy says. 

They all know it’s a natural progression for Troy to get the C someday. Poppy’s getting older and Troy is the franchise’s first draft pick. Not a player scabbed from another team. Troy is the first Ace. Now with Kent and Scraps here, they are going to make this franchise into _something_. The first Ace, now a vet with several seasons under his belt, and two first rounders in need of guidance to really focus their talent. 

“C’mon, I’ll take you home and let you get drunk in the basement,” Troy says. “That way I can keep an eye on you and know the others won’t put you through another awful hazing ritual.”

“Thanks, _Dad,_ ” Kent scoffs but is very appreciative of Troy’s alternative. 

He’s had enough of the Hotshot nickname and horrible hazing. Scraps’ nickname may have a gross origin, but at least it sounds cool. Hotshot just makes Kent sound like a tool. 

Troy takes them home, providing them with booze and food and leaving them to their own devices. Kent and Scraps settle in on the couch, pressed together. The Xbox controllers are within reach so Kent doesn’t have to move around much to get the latest NHL set up. He presses a controller into Scraps’ hand and they quickly set up the game. Kent takes the Rangers and Scraps takes the Jets (there was a brief argument the first time they played over who got the Aces. Stepping in as mediator, Troy quickly decreed neither of them were allowed to play as the Aces and thus the ‘you can’t play yourself’ rule was born.)

They share space so easily and it delights Kent. He relishes in every moment of proximity spent in Scraps’ easy company. It’s healing his heart to be with someone who isn’t holding back like Jack did, who spent every moment locked in his own head. 

Though the vets chirp them for being so close and how often they touch one another. (Kent can barely think of a time he doesn’t have some part of his body not touching Scraps. They find each other on the bench, bumping shoulders, spend practices and skates goofing off during breaks. When on the ice, Kent knows Scraps is always watching his back.) He’s comfortable with Scraps in a way he’s never been with anyone else. Kent would never dream of Jack snatching food off of his plate or throwing an arm around him where everyone could see. Jack was close in private, rarely at parties, and never on the ice. Scraps is constant with his affection, evenly and freely giving it to Kent. 

So it’s a natural progression that their constant touching and stupid flirting culminates in this night. Neither of them are paying too much attention to the game. Kent’s too distracted by the smell of Scraps’ body wash, how his thighs press against Kent’s. Scraps isn’t faring much better in the video game – their characters on the screen are floating around as the computer players pick up the slack. When the game times out, neither of them are in a hurry to start a new round. 

“Hey,” Scraps murmurs, voice low and hoarse. 

Kent hums in response. They shuffle a bit as Scraps turns to look at Kent, their faces close enough to touch. It’s easy to accommodate Scraps, Kent is small enough to fold himself into Scraps. Bringing an arm up, Scraps braces it along the back of the couch and smiles down at Kent. His eyes are dark and full of intent. Maybe Kent should back up, he’s known this was coming – a denouement to their back and forth. Scraps would understand if Kent told him off. 

No questions asked. No one needs to know that Kent is still reeling from Jack telling Kent he never wants to see him again. Everyone just assumes he’s upset because his best friend overdosed and fell off the radar. Scraps and Troy have both been so accepting. If Kent said he needed time, Scraps would wait. But Kent wants now and Scraps is desirable. There’s no way Scraps would stay single for long. 

“Hey yourself,” Kent says, smiling back. 

“Your goal – that was a fucking beauty,” Scraps says. 

Hockey boys. Kent almost wants to laugh. 

“It was all your pass. If it wasn’t for you and I fell like that – no goal man,” Kent says. 

Scraps laughs at that one and Kent can’t help but laugh either. Helplessly giggling, Kent bumps their foreheads together and Scraps brings his arm down, wrapping it around Kent’s shoulders. Limbs banging together, they collapse into a pile on the coach. 

“We’re not very good at this, are we?” Kent says. 

“Not really no,” Scraps says. “Good thing it’s just you and me then. We’ll figure it out.”

For that Kent is eternally grateful. Even though Kent has been around the block a few times, it wasn’t that great. A redo is what he needs. Just him and Scraps. Kent could get use to that. 

“I like the sound of that,” Kent murmurs. 

Leaning upwards, Kent knows he hasn’t read this wrong when Scraps meets him halfway. 

XXXXX

JULY 2015

If things were awkward prior to Kent’s birthday – now it has gotten downright frosty. Kent knows Troy called Scraps and chewed him out, despite the promises he made to Kent because he overheard the phone call. Kent’s a little resentful because it only causes the line of Scraps’ jaw to get tighter. They don’t talk at all and work through their frustration at the gym. They eat together in dead silence before Kent retreats to his bedroom. Then they repeat the next day. Somehow Scraps hasn’t kicked him out yet. For some reason Kent hasn’t left. 

It’s only been a handful of days since his birthday before Kent can’t fucking take it anymore. He needs to get out of this house and stop being so reliant on Scraps. Fortunately for him, Scraps agrees to lending Kent one of his vehicles. It’s the first words they’ve spoken since Kent’s birthday. Well Kent anyway, Scraps doesn’t ask Kent where he’s going just tosses Kent his keys. A tiny part of Kent’s brain supplies him the information that Scraps doesn’t need to ask – not that he doesn’t care. The silence is suffocating both of them. 

With no real bearing on the city, Kent drives for about twenty minutes before pulling over and googling things to do in Winnipeg. He settles on the zoo since it’s outdoors and can be done more or less alone. It’s on the complete opposite end of the city from Scrap’s isolated home but easy enough to find. Even outside of the city core, parking is still a nightmare but Kent gets in without issue. No one seems to recognize him with his hat pulled low and aviators so he’s free to roam. 

Watching the animals go about their business aimlessly loosens something Kent’s in his chest. It’s easy to let his mind relax. He finds himself in the well-advertised polar bear exhibit, cooled by the water. Why is Winnipeg so hot in the summer? It should be illegal for any one place to have such extreme temperature fluctuations. 

“Kent!”

Breaking him out of his reverie, Kent turns to see the smiling face of Arielle. Dressed in the beige uniform of a zoo employee, Kent remembers Arielle got her degree in animal behaviour. It’s nice to see she’s found a way to work with her passion. Vegas wasn’t satisfying her in that regard. 

He smiles at her, tilting his hat up and pulling off his sunglasses. 

“I heard some whispers you were here,” she continues. “Had to see it with my own eyes, though. Is Drew here? Why are you Winnipeg?”

“Nah I had to get away from Scraps for the day,” Kent says trying to come across easy and relaxed. 

Arielle squints at him. She doesn’t know him well enough to see through the facade, but she can read people well enough to be suspicious. 

“Is everything okay? Drew isn’t holding you hostage right? Blink twice if you’re being held in Winnipeg against your will.”

Kent entertains the thought of blinking twice, but really he’s staying here – torturing himself – on his own accord. He just laughs it off. Arielle laughs too.

“So you and Drew,” she says suggestively. “It’s nice that you’re together. I wish he would’ve told me you were coming. We could’ve all hung out or something – but I get that it’d be weird. The ex and new-beau, but we were all friends so I think it would be okay.”

“What?” Kent demands. “We’re not together.”

“But – I thought for sure – ” Arielle pauses, purses her lips, and collects her thoughts. “You’re telling me, he hasn’t made a move yet? We’re going to have a real talk about this.”

“I’m really confused here. Scraps is not into me like that at all,” Kent says. 

He’s good for a hook-up, but not a relationship. Scraps has made that much amply clear. 

“Huh, that is so bizarre,” Arielle says. 

“Can we change topics please,” Kent says weakly. 

“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around this,” Arielle says, tapping her pointer finger on her chin. “You know why we broke up right? I said I couldn’t live in Vegas anymore – I wasn’t going anywhere in my life. Scraps was upset but relieved because he told me he was having some conflicting feelings about you. Which I sort of knew about. I told him I didn’t think he really fit in Vegas, but he fit with you and gave him my blessing. I knew it would take time but I didn’t think it would be _glacial_.”

Kent really doesn’t want to hear this. Things are falling apart around him. Either Scraps is lying to him or was lying to Arielle. Some of Arielle’s details line up with what Scraps has told him so there’s some truth to it. No matter what – Scraps has been spinning a story and dragging Kent along for the ride. 

“Scraps lied to me,” Kent says. 

Arielle abruptly stops talking, her mouth snapping shut audibly. Realization dawns on her face as she realizes she’s said too much. 

“I thought I could read him you know? We just always understood each other, but all this time he’s been lying to me. Saying he wants to play for the Jets and it’s been tearing him apart. But that’s not true is it?”

Arielle shakes her head. She reaches out tentatively and touches Kent’s arm. The contact is nice and Arielle recognizes that, becoming more bold and rubbing her hand up and down. 

“When he wants to, Drew is really good at shutting people out,” Arielle says softly. 

“Is it something I did? I don’t understand why he keeps making the story more complicated.”

“It’s not your fault,” Arielle says. “I don’t know what’s going on in Drew’s head.”

“You broke up because of me,” Kent says, pained. 

“More or less,” Arielle says, never one to pull her punches. “But it’s not your fault. We’re adults and our relationship was coming to an end on its own.”

“I have to go. I have to go talk to him,” Kent says, mouth dry. 

Arielle looks pained. 

“It was nice seeing you,” Kent says. 

“I wish I didn’t just throw a grenade in your relationship with Drew.”

“We’ve been walking on the edge for months,” Kent says. “It was only a matter of time.”

He spends the car ride fuming, thinking about everything he wants to say to Scraps. It doesn’t fucking matter that Scraps wanted to be with Kent – no matter how much Kent wants it. Scraps has been lying to Kent for fucking months, feeding Kent lie after lie. And Kent, desperate for everything to be okay, just accepted every lie even as Scraps’ story became more and more complicated. 

But when Kent gets home and sees Scraps, deflated on the couch, all the fight evaporates. They are both so tired of fighting. Kent doesn’t even care anymore. He’d give anything for whatever _it_ is to just be over. 

“Hey,” Scraps says. 

“Hey yourself,” Kent replies and drops next to him on the couch. 

Their knees bump and Scraps flinches backwards. Kent is about to fly off the handle when Scraps takes a steadying breath and settles back down. Their knees rest against each other and Kent thinks maybe, just maybe, they’ll finally be okay. 

“Arielle texted you?” Kent says. 

Scraps nods. 

“Look Kent – I’m – I don’t really know what to say other than everything has been so fucking scary. I just don’t want to lose you. So I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I’ve been putting you through all this.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Kent sighs. “Can we just get passed this? Hit the reset button for real and put all the shit we’ve been throwing at each other in a locked box and throw away the key?”

Kent doesn’t care that Scraps has been lying to him. That Scraps might have had feelings for him. That those feelings and the fear of losing Kent has driven them to _this_. All that matters is right now they have an opportunity to put it in the past. Pretend it never happened and move the fuck on. All he wants is his best friend back and Kent is absolutely willing to accept that. 

“Really? Just like that? You don’t want to yell at me for being a dickhead? Tell me I’m being ridiculous?”

Kent doesn’t say that, while he wants to put this behind him, he is in no mood to console Scraps’ insecurities. They’ve been through this hundreds of times. Scraps is stuck with Kent. It’s the one petty thing Kent is going to keep for himself in allowing Scraps to get away with his lies. 

“I reserve the right to call you a dickhead whenever I please,” Kent says and Scraps lets out a little chuckle. “But I’m so fucking tired of this back and forth. I’m here for only two more weeks and I’d like to salvage my summer before I have to go back to Vegas. Let’s just get the fuck over ourselves.”

“Okay. I’d like that.”

Scraps smiles at him and Kent feels like it’s the first genuine thing that’s happened all summer. 

  
  


XXXXX

  
  


JULY 2015

Tomorrow, Kent is leaving Winnipeg. Three weeks ago, Kent couldn’t wait for his time in Winnipeg to end, but unwilling to leave his relationship with Scraps in limbo. Now, Kent hates that he has to leave. Collectively, he and Scraps have only had a few good moments the whole summer. They wasted too much time arguing and not talking and two weeks wasn’t enough to make up for lost time. Kent wonders if it would’ve been easier if he had just left at the end of June instead of suffering through the most of July. 

But the past two weeks have been amazing. He and Scraps are back in sync, laughing with one another and Scraps has that easy look in his eye. There’s not enough time to cover everything Scraps believes Winnipeg has to offer, but since April he’s been planning on taking Kent to the best steakhouse the city has to offer. The last night in Winnipeg fits well. 

So they get dressed up and Scraps drives them into the heart of the city. The laughs come easy between them and fill the gaps. They’ve never needed a constant stream of conversation, but every time Kent looks at Scraps he gets a little giddy. He can’t have Scraps the way he wants him, but Kent can settle for this. Laughing over nothing with Scraps is the best feeling in the world. 

“Mr. Oyer!” the host greets when they arrive. “It’s been awhile – we have the usual table ready for you.”

Scraps nods his head in thanks before turning to Kent. He gestures for Kent to go ahead and presses closely after him, Scraps’ hands nearly brushing Kent’s hips. The restaurant is darkly light and there aren’t many other diners. Those who are present are deeply caught in their own worlds. It’s the ambience and romance, but Kent doesn’t look too deeply into it. Scraps brought him here for the best steak in Winnipeg, not a date. Kent does this sort of thing with Troy and other teammates regularly. 

Scraps’ usual table is tucked in the back corner, away from prying eyes. A window offers them a view of the river and a small park. It’s beautiful and intimate. Before Kent can take a seat, Scraps rushes forward and pulls the chair out. He smirks at Kent, offering the seat with a flourish. 

“Fuck you,” Kent says fondly. 

“Only the best for my captain,” Scraps teases. 

But Kent takes the seat and in a fluid motion, he and Scraps work together so Kent is tucked against the table. Scraps takes the seat opposite to Kent. There isn’t much space so their knees knock and it takes a few minutes of adjustment before their legs are tangled comfortably beneath the table. Kent imagines Scraps and Arielle here, her lithe legs pressed against his as they stare at each other – faces gently illuminated by candlelight. 

Across from him, Scraps watches Kent carefully. His eyes are dark and warm, a small smile on his face as Kent starts to fuss with the items on the table. Everything needs to be in exactly the right position. The host informs them their server will be with them momentarily before vanishing and leaving Kent and Scraps alone. 

“I always wanted to come here as a kid,” Scraps says. “Jules and I would walk passed it every day on our way to school. But it wasn’t like McDonald’s – Mom said it was only for very special occasions.”

“I can’t imagine this is the place you want to take kids either,” Kent says eyeing the expensive furniture and architecture. 

“Yeah – no matter how much I begged, Mom always said ‘no.’ The first time I came here was after the Draft.”

“Pretty big deal,” Kent says. 

“I mean 10th Overall is no First,” Scraps laughs, “but I think I deserved it.”

“Maybe,” Kent says. “I’ve heard first overall is overrated.” 

“Just makes your head big,” Scraps agrees, eyes shining in the low light. “But sometimes I think they know what they’re doing.”

Kent pulls back a little trying to pull him out of Scraps’ orbit. It’s hard. The small table and proximity keeps drawing him in. Scraps’ own open demeanour and low voice is enthralling. Kent could stay here forever, trading soft chirps with Scraps. But the server arrives with a list of specials and information. Kent’s disappointed when Scraps perks up and increases the energy of the room. 

He and the server seem to know each other and they chat pleasantly over the wine list while Kent can only watch, feeling desperately out of his element. Wine is not in Kent’s wheelhouse. You can give the hockey bro a million dollars, but he’s still going to pick the cheapest beer available. Troy, while still a beer man, scoffs at Kent’s choice in alcohol. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Scraps is well versed in wine. 

“Do you have any preferences?” Scraps says, abruptly cutting away from his discussion with the server. 

“You know me, I’m easy,” Kent says grinning. 

“He’s really not,” Scraps says to the server, but he doesn’t look away from Kent. “He just doesn’t know anything about taste.”

Accepting the challenge, Kent reaches over and snatches the wine menu. Scanning the menu, Kent can’t really make heads or tails of the names or meanings. If he picks the most expensive bottle, the chirps will be endless. The whole time, Scraps is watching him, with a small smile on his face. Kent peeks over the top of the wine list and their eyes meet. Finally, Kent picks one on the higher end of the price range (though everything on the menu is fairly pricey). 

“The New Zealand White,” Kent says with as much authority and pomp as he can muster. 

“Of course sir,” the waiter says but looks to Scraps for approval.

“You heard him,” Scraps says. “The New Zealand White. An excellent choice.”

The server disappears and returns momentarily with a bottle. They go through the tasting ritual, which Kent doesn’t really care for. Most wines taste more or less the same to him. But he continues with his charade and mimics what he’s seen others do. Swirling the small amount poured for testing, Kent sniffs the wine before taking a small sip. The alcohol stings his nose and Scraps snorts when Kent makes a face. But he puts the glass back on the table and nods for the server to fill the glass.

Finally the server leaves them alone with the menu.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Scraps says. 

“And have the waiter judge me for my poor taste? No thanks.”

“It’s a solid choice,” Scraps says and takes an appreciate sip of the wine. “It’s pretty much my mom’s go to.”

“Great minds think alike,” Kent grins and then looks down at the menu. “So what do you recommend?”

They spend the next ten minutes debating the merits of steak cuts and how it should be cooked before Scraps snatches the menu out of Kent’s hands, nearly knocking over everything. 

“This is why we can’t have nice things, _Andrew_ ,” Kent snaps, settling everything on the table. 

“At least I know what nice things are. Were you raised in a barn? You can’t cook your steak _medium well_ ,” Scraps says. “I’m ordering for you. You can’t be trusted to not fuck this up.”

“I’m not a toddler!” 

“You sure are as picky as one,” Scraps shoots back. “We both know if you pick something you don’t like, you’ll be cranky about it for the rest of the night. Just trust me that I can pick something you’ll want.”

Kent knows with 100% certainty Scraps can pick something he’ll like. But this is his honour at stake. He can’t just let Scraps push him around because Kent has “bad taste.” On the other hand, the menu is a lot to take in and no doubt Scraps has a few ideas about what a first timer should get.

“You’re being an elitist,” Kent says, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Oh c’mon, you know I’m right.”

Kent sighs and it’s as good as Scraps is going to get. He grins and when the server returns, rattles out an order for himself and for Kent. Fortunately this time, Scraps doesn’t share with the server Kent’s apparent inadequacies. 

“So you might be getting a rookie, huh?” Scraps says. “It’s about damn time.”

Ah the rookie. Should Moretti crack the roster, he’s more than likely coming to stay with Kent. Hopkins has set the plan in motion, but there’s still some finer points to iron out. And Moretti needs to prove he’s NHL calibre. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready. Me? Being responsible and shit?”

“You’re the captain. Everyone respects the hell out of you,” Scraps assures him. “You’d go to battle for all of us and we’d so the same.”

“But being responsible for a rookie? That’s way different than inspiring a team or knocking your heads together when we’re playing like shit. I’ll have to guide him and show him the ropes.”

“Troy did it for both of us. How hard could it be?”

“Troy is a saint and has experience dealing with kids. Last time I checked, kids hate me and the press is still trying to crucify me for drinking in public.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. What I’m saying is that you had a great mentor and you may not realize it, but that’s why you’re going to be a great one too,” Scraps says. “It’s definitely why management chose you to play billet dad to the rookie. Troy has set you up for success.”

“Fair enough,” Kent agrees. “What if he hates me or something? What if another vet steals him?”

“Troy did not steal me. Poppy was a terrible mentor,” Scraps says. “I’m lucky Troy put up with me or who knows where I would’ve ended up.”

“ _God_ Poppy was an awful mentor,” Kent agrees. “Remember when he took you out drinking and then just left you? An underage kid in Vegas. I was so mad. Remember I tried to fight him at practice?”

Kent had gotten a text from Scraps at 4 am, informing Kent he was drunk and lost. With Troy’s knowledge of the city and Scraps’ last known location, they managed to track him down. They had curled up in Kent’s bed that night – Kent knowing how lucky they were to find Scraps unharmed. Vegas can be a dangerous city if you wander into the wrong places. The next morning at practice, Kent, all 5’10 to Poppy’s 6’7, went off on him. Poppy had been pissed off but Kent had earned the respect of his teammates that day and those who were still calling him Hotshot finally transitioned to Parser. 

“Yeah, that wasn’t the greatest,” Scraps grimaces. “I’d rather not remember that. He tried to make me a real goon and teach that throwing down the gloves was the only real option.”

“I wonder what he’s up to these days,” Kent muses. 

“Probably back in Russia, doing whatever Russians do,” Scraps says dismissively. 

With a quick Google search of Mikhail Popov, Kent gets immediate results. He whistles low, impressed by Poppy’s current stats in the KHL 

“Still trucking in the K,” Kent says. “I hope I have even half that durability.”

“With me watching your back, I’ll make sure no one gives you a career ending injury,” Scraps says earnestly. 

“Thanks,” Kent murmurs softly. “I appreciate that.”

“Anything for you,” Scraps replies easily. 

Kent needs something to pull himself out of this hole. Scraps is staring at him with a scary amount of intensity and fondness. The look makes Kent want to curl up inside of it and live there, safe and protected. The same feelings of warmth nineteen year old Kent got when he was drowning in the loss of Jack Zimmermann. Every time is the recipient of the look, it’s like falling for Scraps all over again. 

“Did you know Troy and Poppy hated each other?” Kent says. “Before Troy adopted you, he use to come and rant about the guy almost non-stop.”

“Well Troy was basically gunning for Poppy’s job,” Scraps says. “Everyone knew the next season, regardless of if Poppy was there or not, Troy was getting the C.”

“But he didn’t,” Kent says, looking down. 

“Yeah we got something much better instead,” Scraps says and bumps their knees together. “Even Troy knew you were the best choice for captain. He’s always seen the best in you.”

“He’s also seen the worst. I was not a pretty sight my first months in Vegas.”

Something flairs in Scraps’ eyes but he quickly schools his look and settles himself. Kent, for his own sanity and preserving the moment, doesn’t push it. Even the vaguest allusion to Jack can set Scraps off apparently. Kent’s not sure what to make of Scraps’ hair trigger when it comes to Jack. Has it always existed? It’s certainly a new development for Kent. 

“Did I tell you I basically cried for three days straight after my mom left to go home?” Scraps says. 

Kent smiles fondly. He did know that. But for some reason, Scraps loves telling this story – relishing in his own embarrassment and his shenanigans as he tried to care for himself. 

“No, tell me,” he says. 

The rest of the evening passes amicably. Lost in stories and reminiscing, Kent feels drunk on Scraps’ attention as they drive home. The radio hums softly in the background, a woman singing a love song. Scraps is humming along to himself, one hand on the wheel with his fingers tapping along to the beat. His other arm is draped along the bench seat of his truck. Kent’s not sure if it’s intentional or due to Scraps’ long arms, but Scraps’ hand rests near the nape of Kent’s neck. His fingers ghost Kent’s skin, gently brushing across the sensitive area but never pulling away when a bump causes the touch to become less ephemeral. 

Kent could stay like this forever, trapped in the perfect moment. 

But nothing lasts forever. They arrive back at Scraps’ house and slowly get out of the truck, weighed down by a heavy meal and a good night. Kent trails behind Scraps as they make their way to the door. When they reach the steps, Scraps pauses and fumbles with his keys. Lost in his own thoughts, Kent bumps right into Scraps’ back. He stumbles on the tiny landing, but Scraps turns and stabilizes him, hands on Kent’s hips. 

Scraps’ hands are like brands, burning through the thin fabric of Kent’s shirt. The humid air of the Winnipeg night isn’t helping. His fingers curls into the fabric of Kent’s shirt, nails pressing into his skin. Scraps is so close, eyes dark and low as he watches Kent. 

Standing in front of Scraps’ door, Kent can’t move his feet. He’s stuck in this moment. The two of them are so close together, intimately linked. The weight of their last fight weighs heavily between them, never quite resolved but they accepted a non-resolution for their sanity. But Kent doesn’t think of that. He can’t. He just remembers Scraps’ soft looks over dinner. Winding their feet together under the table, leaning into each other as they walked back to the truck. 

All that has lead them standing in the artificial glow of the garage light, flickering slightly to let the world know soon it will need to be changed. 

“Please tell me I haven’t been reading this wrong,” Kent whispers. 

Scraps lets Kent rest his hands loosely on the back of his neck, curling the other at Scraps’ hip. He lets Kent crowd him into the door, watching Kent with heavy eyes. In his chest, Kent’s heart beats wildly as if trying to escape his ribcage. It’s time to free it and give his heart a chance to love completely. Scraps, the boy on Troy’s couch who promised they’d figure it out together, and Scraps, the man who’s standing in front of him who Kent has barely able to make sense of in the past months, both want the same thing. 

Leaning in, Kent inhales softly and kisses him. 

Scraps doesn’t meet him halfway. 

  
  


XXXXX

SEPTEMBER 2015

Kent’s rookie is weird. 

Jamie Moretti is good at hockey in the way all late round draft picks are after they spend a few years in the AHL. He’s solid and will make an excellent asset to the team after he gets a few cracks at the big league. But playing in the NHL is trial by fire. Sure Moretti was a standout during training camp and was on fire during the preseason, but once the season really gets rolling – that’s when Moretti’s true test will begin. But Kent knows he has what it takes. Moretti has a drive that Kent doesn’t always see, the rookie blue liner always last off the ice after practice – determined to improve. 

Moretti is attached to Kent at the hip. It makes sense, he’s older than most rookies and has an immense pressure put on his shoulders by the front office. They traded for him and aren’t immediately sending him back to the farm team. Moretti has been in the AHL for two years and grown comfortable with it, honing his skills but never getting the call up. Now, the Aces are throwing him right into the Show. Kent has watched the tapes, he knows Moretti can handle it. 

But that’s not why he’s weird. 

Moretti is naive and gentle. He talks to animals and plants like children (though Kit deserves to be pampered). He’s got a motor mouth and no filter, everything coming to Moretti’s head is immediately out his mouth. Although he has a strong sense of loyalty, Moretti doesn’t follow tradition or the rules of the locker room. He’s getting fined ruthlessly for small things (“He named his equipment for fuck’s sake,” Koci complains. “No baby talk or PDA in the locker room, he was asking for it.”) The biggest is that he calls Kent ‘Cap,’ not Parser. 

In the locker room atmosphere, NHL or not, Kent thought those kind of traits would’ve been lost or pushed aside for protection. But Moretti continues on, cooing at things, naming intimate objects, and being soft and kind in ways hockey bros generally aren’t, without a care for standards. Kent fucking loves Moretti and is glad he’s Kent’s rookie so he can help keep Moretti so unique. 

But he’s worried about Moretti, which is why he tells the rest of the team: no rookie lap. Kent hates it for multiple reasons. It’s an embarrassing, outdated tradition. Kent went through hell in his rookie year trying to prove himself to the vets. He knows there are better ways to tease a rookie. Sending a rookie, especially a twenty year old with two years in the A under his belt, alone on the ice is a disgrace. 

There’s an order to things, however. And no matter how much Kent wants to keep Moretti the way he is – locker room culture always prevails. _That_ Kent knows better than most. 

As far as game day superstitions go, Kent is on the more mild end of the spectrum. His solo lap on the ice before the arena doors open for game day, soccer with the team, and a brief lap through the back halls of the arena – not necessarily in any order. For warmups, Kent hangs near the back of the line (For game time, Kent goes second last. Jack went out at last in the Q and when Kent arrived in Vegas, Troy went out last so Kent slid in easily with no complaints or dissections of his behaviour), so he doesn’t know what happens at the front of the line. 

But he trusts the team to follow his explicit instructions. 

So when there’s a hold up and some commotion at the front, Kent gets anxious. He shoulders his way past everyone else and finds Scraps at the head of the line and Moretti alone on the ice. 

No doubt the cameras are on them so Kent doesn’t say anything, just pushes past Scraps and jumps onto the ice after Moretti. They’ll have words after the game. There’s confusion on the bench and very quickly the rest of the team pours out onto the ice, many giving Kent confused looks. Scraps hangs back the longest, fixing his blank stare on Kent. 

Skating over to Moretti, Kent claps him on the back. His face is a bit pale but he gives Kent a small smile. 

“I’m all good Cap, just tradition right?”

“You’re twenty years old. You deserve better than that,” Kent says. 

Moretti shrugs and gives him a brighter smile. 

“It’s my shot in the big leagues right? It’s a rite of passage.”

Kent has some strong thoughts about ‘rites of passage’ in the locker room and abhorrent and toxic behaviour of hockey bros, but Moretti seems okay so he skates away. 

Opening night is electric. No one has forgotten last season’s disappointing end, but it’s a fresh start – a new season to try again. The fans are wild and ready for hockey. On the ice, Kent is _home._ Empowered by cheers, his blades on the ice, and the puck on his stick – Kent knows it’s going to be a good season. He scores to kick the game off and the Aces can’t be derailed after that. He and Troy are on fire, always finding each other on the ice. The win the game 4-1 and for a moment, Kent allows himself to get swept up in the locker jubilation. 

Moretti is grinning, eating in the attention as the vets compliment his play. Particularly one great backcheck where Moretti stopped the other team from getting a breakaway. Kent walks over, rustling Moretti’s hair and smiling down at him. Grabbing the jester hat, he jams it on Moretti’s head. The locker room erupts, cheering

“Welcome to the Show, Moretti. You’re going to fit in fine,” he announces.

There’s various other speeches from Hopkins and Keller, welcoming the team back and reminding them to keep this up for the rest of the season. Everyone is alive with energy, ready for a new season. After the media scrums, everyone slowly filters out – making various plans. Moretti is scooped up by Tady and Koci with promises of drinks. Kent has plans to follow, but his gaze turns to Scraps, who, as usual, is one of the last guys. 

Kent hangs around until it’s just him and Scraps. He would usually just sit in his stall, legs kicked out in front of him and occasionally bumping his foot against Scraps’ ankle. But they haven’t been talking recently, so he lingers by the entranceway so Scraps can’t avoid him. He watches Scraps go through his routine with fondness. Checking his pads three times, packing his skates laces just the way he likes them for storage, and then wiping down his stall. After every game Scraps is insistent on going through this process, making sure his stall is in pristine condition. Kent’s own stall is a disaster area and he watches Scraps turn to it, make a noise, before straightening out Kent’s pads. 

If Kent wasn’t so angry he’d find the action endearing, instead he narrows his eyes – annoyed that Scraps is messing with his equipment. Finally, Scraps sighs heavily and his shoulders sag. Turning to Kent, Scraps' face is drawn and tired. 

“What the fuck were you doing?” Kent snaps, unfolding himself from the doorway and stepping back into the locker room. “I couldn’t have been more clear. Moretti wasn’t doing the rookie lap.”

“It’s tradition,” Scraps replies hotly. 

“Fuck tradition. You know exactly why I don’t do hazing.”

Scraps’ jaw tightens as he stares down at Kent. 

“It’s not hazing. He even laughed – it’s just a solo lap,” Scraps continues. 

“He’s not a rookie!” Kent shouts. “We should respect his time in the A – it’s made him a fine player.”

“It’s the A, Parser. C’mon,” Scraps says derisively. 

“Yeah, so?” Kent says. 

Kent spent most of his early hockey career on the second and third lines. It doesn’t matter where you play – everyone deserves their shot at the big league and no one should have their route to the NHL mocked. 

“He deserves to be here,” Kent continues. “He has more professional experience than you or I did coming into the show. He’s not a rookie.”

Scraps scowls at him and refuses to speak. Kent stares him down. 

“What’s your deal with Moretti? You’ve been fining him more than anyone else,” Kent says. “You barely talk to him – he could really use your advice.”

“He’s an AHLer, he’s going to get sent back down,” Scraps says. “I shouldn’t waste my time with him. And with you babying him so much, why does he even need me?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Kent snaps, then he pauses and studies Scraps. 

The set of his jaw, the glint in his eyes, and how he’s holding himself. He’s closed off, deliberately trying to make himself unreadable. But Kent can see right through him – he spent a whole summer learning to manage this new Scraps. Their last two weeks was an exercise in learning what set Scraps off. 

“You’re jealous,” Kent says flatly. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re jealous of Moretti?”

Scraps says nothing. More or less the same as the last few months. 

“Get your fucking shit together, _Andrew_. You don’t talk to me for a month. You’re the one ignoring me. You don’t get to be pissy and jealous that I’m making new friends.”

“You’re dedicating yourself to that rookie,” Scraps mutters. “It’s pathetic. He’s never going to go anywhere if you coddle him.”

“I’m not talking about this anymore. If you want to talk to me like an adult, let’s do that. I put all my cards on the table,” Kent says. “You know where to find me.”

Kent leaves Scraps seething in the locker room. Arriving at the club, Moretti is already three drinks deep and has been affectionately dubbed ‘Swoops’ by Tady and not so affectionately by Koci. 

(“This is the third time he’s stolen the girl I was talking to!” Koci complains. 

“It was an accident!” Moretti says sheepishly. 

“And then you don’t even hook up her!” Koci shouts. “At least go all the way if you’re going to swoop in and steal my girl.”)

When Kent gets at home, he looks at his phone – hoping Scraps has texted him. The text from April is still there, with no response or follow up. Kent hadn’t been lying when he put all his cards on the table. He told Scraps flat out he wanted a relationship with him, but would be willing to make their friendship work. Scraps hasn’t said anything since. Kent would’ve respected a ‘I need time’ but the radio silence has become a noticeable locker room detractor. 

XXXXX

September 2009

When Kent was announced, the crowd erupted. He was First Overall, meant to be the saviour of a struggling expansion team going nowhere fast. Years of missing the playoffs and mediocrity before finally being just _bad enough_ to get a shot at the draft lottery. First Overall. Kent is meant to bring the Aces to glory. 

And the vets, who have been with the Aces long-term or those drafted from the middling years, resent him for it. They’re immediately overlooked – no one wants to talk to them anymore about their play. It’s about Kent. How will he fit on the team? What do they think of his play? How do they think the team will turn around with his addition on the team? Hazing has been brutal through training camp and practices. Kent prefers being outright ignored rather than coming into the locker room and finding his equipment fucked with. 

He steps out on the ice and finds someone unscrewed his blades so it breaks off when he presses on it just so. He puts on his pads and finds one of the straps has been cut. Pulling his jersey off the hook to find it’s too small. Searching through the arena because his equipment has been hidden. And that’s just the things in the locker room. Dirty hits and rough play in practice follows him and no one really seems willing to put a stop to it. 

So after his first game, Kent pulls off his jersey and is shuttled off to the media. They pepper him with a million questions but Kent’s brain can’t keep up. Everything is so overwhelming and he’s exhausted from playing. It may be just a preseason game but Kent still gave it his all. A lot of the AHL guys looking to crack the NHL roster are hanging around and they resent Kent as much as the NHL guys do. Kent gets the straight shot to the NHL and doesn’t need time to develop. He doesn’t need to prove himself, they think. 

But Kent does. More than anyone. ‘Hotshot’ follows him around everywhere. From the first moment he stepped into the locker room, everyone labelled him and it stuck as a nickname. So Kent plays it up. He outplays them during practice, embarrasses his teammates with his speed and shooting abilities. And the hazing and isolation gets worse. His only real allies are Drew and Troy. Drew gets a long a bit better with the vets but is still hazed because he’s pretty damn good in his own right. And Troy has been unwilling saddled with Kent by management. Kent’s not really sure if Troy is part of the hazing or not yet.

When he returns from the media scrum, he finds Troy at his locker glaring at Kent’s jersey. The closer he gets, the more he finds that something reeks. 

“Sorry kid,” Troy says. “They fucked with it when I wasn’t looking. They’ve been clearly cooking this up for awhile.”

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with it,” Kent snaps. 

He won’t cry – he absolutely won’t. So life has been hard recently. Losing his best friend. Moving across the country to an unfamiliar city to a team full of people who don’t like him. He did it once when he wormed his way into the Q. He can do it again. 

But this is Kent’s _first NHL jersey._ It’s not from the regular season and Kent didn’t score or even get an assist – but it means something to him. A tangible object he can wave in parents’ faces and say that it wasn’t a waste to devote himself to hockey. He’s in the NHL – regardless of what happens here, Kent played in Show. 

“I was going to frame it,” Kent says and his voice trembles treacherously. 

Troy reaches out and drops a hand on Kent’s neck, making an attempt to soothe him. Slapping his arm away, Kent tries to level Troy with meanest glare he can muster. Troy’s probably just as resentful of Kent as the rest of the guys. Troy was the first player drafted by the Aces – he was meant to be saviour of the franchise. Kent shouldn’t be here, he should’ve been drafted by the Islanders or some other struggling team. Troy wanted to lead the team to victory, to Cups. But now he’s old and Kent’s here to replace him.

“Fuck off,” Kent sneers. 

He storms off and out of the locker room. The place is mostly empty now with a handful of people still milling around. The important people have left – the coaching staff and the rest of the team. Taking a steadying breath, Kent turns down the tunnel and out onto the ice. No one tells him he can’t, so he makes his way all the way to the end and even takes a step out. 

“Something smells awful,” Drew comments, appearing out of nowhere. 

Kent jumps and nearly falls on his ass. Drew laughs and catches him. But he makes a face and steps back a little. The smell of the jersey has clearly clung to Kent. It makes Kent feel even worse. A terrible game, a shitty team, a stinky jersey, and his only friend can’t even be near him. 

“Whoa there,” Drew says and he takes a deep breath before wrapping his arms around Kent’s shoulder. “Troy was right. That’s really something.”

“They ruined my jersey. My _first_ jersey,” Kent says petulantly.

“Troy’s trying to wash it. He’s in the shower using soap, someone will need to save him from that,” Drew laughs. “Not that I know how to clean it either. Troy’s guess is better than mine.”

Kent lets out a wet laugh. Drew pulls him tighter. Underneath the horrific scent, Kent can smell Drew’s’ body wash. Probably too liberally applied. You can put a teenager in the NHL and give him a lot of money, but he’ll still think spraying a whole can of Axe body spray is the only way to smell good. 

“I don’t get why they have to be so awful,” Kent sighs. 

“Fuck ‘em,” Drew says. “You know what we’re going to do? We’re going to rock this team. It’s going to be ours. Five years, we’ll have a Cup for sure.”

“Awfully cocky,” Kent teases. 

“When we’re this good, we get to be this cocky.”

Kent looks up at the ceiling where nothing hangs. No titles, no numbers, no championships. Nothing to show that Aces have existed. The attendance is dwindling, the fans are losing interest but Kent heard the roar of their cheers today. As he skated out onto the ice, stick raised in the air. He heard them cheer for Drew too. One day their numbers will hang from the ceiling. Kent’s 90 and Drew’s 48. Drew laughs when Kent tells him. 

“That’s the spirit!” he says. “You and me. Maybe Troy.”

Troy’s 73 would fit nicely, Kent thinks.

“Let’s do it,” Kent says firmly. “Me and you, Aces for life.”

“Us against the world,” Drew agrees. 

“Us against the world,” Kent promises. 

Under a bannerless ceiling, smelling of something terrible, not yet _Parser_ or _Scraps_ , Kent and Drew make a promise.

“Hey!” Troy shouts from the tunnel. “Am I driving you home or what?”

Kent turns and Troy’s got his jersey in his hands. It’s soaking wet and so is Troy, water dripping from his hands and down his face. He looks absolutely ridiculous. Kent and Drew share a look before bursting out into laughter. 

“Yeah, yeah see if I ever do anything nice for you again,” Troy says. “I think the water just made the smell worse.”

He brings it up to his nose and grimaces. 

“But if we get it in glass, we won’t be able to smell it,” Troy continues. “I know a guy. Now let’s head home.”

“Can Drew come?”

“Poppy left, so he has no way home,” Troy says and scowls. “Of course he’s welcome.”

Tucked under Drew’s arm, a promise binding them together, Kent feels like he can do this. He can get through the vets’ cruel barbs and hazing. Watching Troy, soaking wet and carrying Kent’s jersey, he knows Troy is one of the good ones. 

“Hey Troy,” Kent calls, apology on his lips. 

Troy looks over his shoulder at him and smiles. 

“Save it kid, we’re good.”

Yeah. Troy is on Kent’s side. 

XXXXX

April 2015

Tonight is a do or die game. If they lose, they’re mathematically eliminated from the playoffs and the next game they play will be for nothing. If they win, the Aces survive for another day and have a shot of sneaking into the second wild card spot. Unfortunately, these coming down to the wire situations barely work out for the team on the cusp. There’s always another team, just a little ahead with a bit more of an advantage. The Aces are the underdog here, even if they win – other teams would have to lose. It’s been a long time since the Aces held their fate in their own hands like this.

But tonight – Kent _believes_. He’ll put this fucking team on his back and drag them kicking and screaming to the playoffs. It’s his responsibility to keep them all in this. He’s everywhere, firing up the team and encouraging them. The foot cannot be taken off the gas if they want to win. He’s been checked out for months – lost in a haze of his own misery until Troy beat down his door and forced Kent to look at the state of the team. It’s his fault they slipped and his job to get them out of it. 

(The headlines kept asking ‘What’s wrong with Parson?’ and how his scoring drought was dragging the team down. Kent doesn’t normally listen to sports’ writers, but when Troy shoved the articles in his face, Kent was forced to admit they had a point.)

Novak is locked in, standing on his head and bailing out the defenders’ mistakes. Troy is creating opportunities and Kent keeps trying to cash in. But the other team isn’t having it. They’re already a lock for the playoffs and resting some of their stars, but the Aces can’t even cut through their second stringers. No matter how well they play, the other team has their number. 

It’s tied 2-2 heading into the third and Kent knows playing to hold the tie won’t be enough. The single loser point isn’t a reward or a consolation. They need two points for a hard fought victory. Kent knows the stakes and makes sure everyone on the bench understands the situation too. This is their season on the line. 

Keller is chattering in his ear, Troy at Kent’s side as they both nod along. The play is simple. Troy dumps in, Kent puts on the speed and gets it before the other team. Troy gets in the slot while the defenders are focusing on Kent’s wrap around attempt. Fake the shot, pass to Troy – he shoots. 

But getting puck possession isn’t as easy. The two teams are locked in the neutral zone, forcing turnovers and scrambling into the offensive zone with ugly entries that end in a forced shot. Kent and Troy are on the ice more than usual as Keller keeps trying to push the play. 

It’s the dying minutes of the third and Kent’s lungs are on fire when the opportunity arises. He poke checks the incoming forward and the puck is loose behind him. The crowd roars all around him and Kent feeds off their energy. He dekes around the other player, grabs the puck, doesn’t even bother looking for Troy – he’ll be there – and takes off. Just past the red line, Kent hits the puck through the defenders legs and he can hear the crowd groan a little. 

The dump and chase rarely works out. It’s a risky play and Kent knew it from when Keller described it. But kicking his blades into the ice – Kent _flies._ It’s what he’s meant to do. So fast on the ice, no one can touch him. His legs burn from the exertion and the sweat is pouring down his face. But he reaches the puck first and he can see Troy wide open and - 

Kent doesn’t really remember the hit. He’s on his knees on the ice, play is more or less continuing. He’s gassed, stunned, and the breath has been stolen from him. He’s feeling shaky from the hit, but knows, at least, he didn’t hit his head. Just a heavy hit into the boards by a man much bigger than Kent. He’s angry with himself – he should’ve been paying more attention to himself. Sure he got away from the other team, but he slowed down at the boards and focused on Troy and let his guard down. The perfect time for a defender to take an unwitting forward out. 

There’s yelling as Kent makes his way to his feet. Looking up, he’s watching Scraps shadowing one of the opposing defenders. Kent wants to shout out – to tell Scraps to leave it. It Scraps gets the penalty – they’ve lost their most important piece of the penalty kill. But there’s still no air in Kent’s lungs and he can only watch as Scraps lays out the defender with an awful crosscheck. He might even get a hearing from Player Safety for it. 

The whistle blows and Scraps is in the box. There’s less than a minute left in the period. Even if the Aces hold them off, the other team will start overtime with the man advantage. Playing 4-on-3 is a death sentence. 

Kent’s forced to watch from the bench helplessly as the other team’s power play circles around the Aces. Kent holds his breath as the other team fakes the pass and shoots. Novak scrambles to get it covered and there’s chaos around the net. 

Everyone on the bench is on their feet, waiting for a whistle. None comes until the other team is pulling away sticks in the air. Keller curses behind them and Troy leads the penalty kill to the bench. 

“Can it be challenged?” Kent asks him hopefully. “Tell me someone pushed Novak.”

Troy shakes his head. 

“Slipped right under his pad,” Troy says. “It’s over Parser. I’m sorry.”

Kent shakes his head. He stares across the ice as Scraps slips out of the box and to the bench. 

“It’s not your fault.”

No one says anything as Scraps slides onto the bench. The fourth line takes the draw for the final 2 seconds and make a Hail Mary shot across the ice. It’s easily deflected by the opposing goaltender. 

The team files out, back into the locker room, silent and morose. Kent goes last, patting them each on the shoulder in consolation. They played hard and deserve to know it. They went down swinging. Kent makes sure Novak gets a hug for his hard work – he’s pissed off but always glad for the support. Novak doesn’t say anything as he beats his glove on Kent’s neck. It will be a while before he feels ready to talk again. 

“Practice tomorrow is cancelled. You guys played hard and deserve the rest,” Keller says once they’re all in their stalls. “See you the day after next.”

He leaves after that. There will be a better speech later, after the sting of missing the post-season has faded. For now, everyone needs to lick their wounds. 

“Hey,” Troy says coming up to Kent. “You know this isn’t your fault.”

He kicks a shoe into Kent’s shin guards. Kent sighs heavily. It must look bad that most of the team is undressed and filing out and Kent hasn’t even stripped his jersey off. He’s lucky there’s no media today. 

“You put your best effort in there and we all followed your lead,” Troy says, his voice wobbly and wrecked. 

“Troy, take some time for yourself,” Kent says. “Don’t worry about me for a little bit.”

Troy looks conflicted. Like he doesn’t want Kent to spin into self-hate. He has a good reason to worry. Kent spent most a majority of the back half of the season in a very bad place. Opening his mouth to protest, Troy takes a very considering look at Kent before shutting his mouth.

“Alright. I’ll see you then,” Troy says. “Be good to yourself.”

“You too,” Kent says. 

Troy leaves and Kent is suddenly hyper aware of Scraps watching him. Turning around, Kent finds Scraps staring at him and only half out of his equipment. He looks lost and regretful. Kent’s angry for being blindsided, but Scraps was the one who lost it for them. 

“Why did you do it?” Kent asks. 

He’s suddenly so tired. 

“People can’t hit you like that,” Scraps replies hotly. 

“I don’t need you to defend my honour,” Kent replies. “I’m a big boy.”

Scraps makes a noise and Kent immediately cuts him off. 

“My head was down, I deserved it. I was stupid – there was no need for you to be a fucking dumbass,” Kent spits. 

“Fuck you,” Scraps snaps. “You don’t think I know I lost the game for us? But fuck – Kent – I saw you go down and I was so fucking mad. You didn’t get back up and I – I just. I don’t know.”

Scraps slumps his shoulders, absolutely defeated. 

“This game could’ve been ours. We were so close,” Kent mutters. “Novak was going to steal overtime for us. Best overtime record in the league.”

His voice breaks and he can feel the tears in his eyes. It’s so stupid – it’s just a fucking game. But Kent feels the weight of it on his shoulders. All it takes is one game to ruin it all. 

Kent takes a rattling breath and settles himself. He meets Scraps’ soft eyes – begging for forgiveness. Kent isn’t ready for that yet. He needs to forgive himself first. By tomorrow it will be okay.

“Do better next time,” Kent says harshly. 

He turns back to his stall, effectively ending the conversation. Scraps packs up quickly – far faster than Kent has ever seen him do before.

There is no tomorrow – Scraps gets a one-game suspension and spends it in the press box. He isn’t there with they win their last game. Avoids Kent during locker clean up and refuses to meet Kent’s eyes as Kent congratulates them on the season. 

“Next year,” Kent says to the room. “We’ll all do better. I’ll do better. I promise you.”

He won’t get trapped in his own head and put them in this situation again. Everyone knows who is coming next season. For his team, Kent needs to be better. 

XXXXX

JULY 2015

Scraps sees him off in the airport. Kent tried to go after last night. Tried to leave Scraps’ home and get a hotel room, to avoid drowning in embarrassment but Scraps insisted it was fine. (And Kent always the fool, believed him.) After Scraps’ soft rejection, one hand on Kent’s chest, and pulling out of Kent’s gently hold, Kent couldn’t look at him. He read everything wrong, looked too much into things. Poured out his entire soul and Scraps handed it back, unwanted. It’s the way it’s always been – Kent overreaching and seeing things that aren’t there. Scraps has always been better at wrapping his feelings into neat bows and ending them.

Regardless of what Arielle said, Scraps clearly doesn’t feel that way anymore. The sinking feeling in Kent’s gut tells him whatever Kent did to bother Scraps (put in the past in their official truce) played a role in Scraps getting over his feelings. For Kent, however, he’ll continue on pining. Maybe the good home life and actual role models of a functional relationship played a part in Scraps’ emotional stability. Kent’s been fucked in that category since Day 1. Scraps has him on the “actually been in a happy and mature relationship” too. 

Kent had Jack. 

But they’re at the airport now. Kent back to Vegas to prepare for the start of the season and play a role in the prospect camp. He’s not really needed there, but he wants to be. It’s important for the players who are trying to crack the roster to get his support and know what they’re getting into. He’s definitely interested in Moretti kid; management has been making a lot of noise about him since the trade. Even is Moretti winds up back in the AHL, Kent’s probably going to open up his home to him. (The AHL team plays out of the same arena, so it still works).

He’ll see Scraps in a handful of weeks for training camp. Maybe things will be okay then. Kent will pack up his feelings into a box and shelf the Scraps box right next to the Jack one. Scraps will pretend like nothing happened, always the good friend. He understands how Kent is – getting too wrapped up in a person and then trapped by his own emotions. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” Scraps says. 

They are a good two feet apart, the hot July day beating down on them. It was a small victory, but Kent convinced Scraps he only needed to drop Kent off. Parking would be such an elongated hassle and no doubt Kent would find a way to fuck up the awkward peace Scraps has painstakingly built. Fortunately, their truce extended into even minor arguments and Scraps gave in easily. 

Shuffling on his feet and twisting his hand around the handle of his suitcase, Kent tries to ignore Scraps’ piercing gaze. They are unfinished and undefined. So much more needs to be said, too much has gone unspoken and taken for granted. But it’s time to close this chapter – Kent should have done it long ago. Recognized and moved on that he and Scraps never stood a chance. Kent isn’t what Scraps wants. Full stop.

His skin crawls and he feels sick, knowing Kent’s been so damaged by his childhood, by Jack, by the toxic hockey culture – he’s become essentially unloveable. Scraps eyes are soft and sad – pitying. Kent hates it. He’s a fucking star and he’s going to tear up this year in the NHL. Relationships aren’t his beginning and end. Kent has himself and that’s the only person he’s ever been able to rely on. 

“Hey,” Scraps says. “C’mon.”

He opens his arms offering a hug. Kent hesitates. 

Kent thinks about the text on his phone. Still only on read. Neither of them have texted each other since. It feels like a weight. 

_I miss you._ Scraps wrote. Kent still can’t figure out what it meant.

It pisses him off that Scraps thinks it was okay to send that. After months of not really being friends, Scraps could just text Kent and know he’d come running. It’s infuriating Kent can’t interpret the message, lost in his own feelings. It’s not fucking fair Kent has always been an open book that Scraps can read and rewrite with ease while he himself is a locked down vault. Kent doesn’t even get a hint at the combination. 

The world falls at Kent’s feet as he realizes what has to be done. 

“Bye Scraps,” Kent says and he turns on heel and walks into the terminal. 

“Kent!” Scraps calls after him, frustration evident in his voice. 

He won’t shout. He can’t yell out or cause a scene, but Kent still walks quicker anyways. The sooner he is out of Winnipeg, he can start figuring what the hell his life is supposed to be like without Scraps. 

XXXXX

AUGUST 2015

Pancake breakfast with Troy when Kent returns from his exile in Florida is tradition. This year Kent may have not have gone to Florida, but the term ‘exile’ still suits what he put himself through in Winnipeg. Somehow, Troy got the memo pancakes are now outlawed and Kent’s got a healthy pile of bacon, eggs, and hash browns in front of him (waffles would’ve been okay, but Kent appreciates Troy’s dedication to avoidance on Kent’s behalf). 

But their traditional breakfast day has turned into a week as Kent has refused to return to his apartment. So the summer from hell had been, well, the Summer from Hell but Kent spent the majority of it sharing a space. Despite the silence, Kent had never been alone. Going to his apartment, to stew alone in his thoughts, is a singularly bad idea. Troy didn’t complain when Kent arrived at his house, suitcase in hand, straight from the airport. 

(“Please,” Kent had whispered, feeling small and pathetic. 

“I’ve got you,” Troy replied easily, no judgement. 

He slung an arm around Kent’s shoulders and pulled him into the only real home Kent has ever had.)

It’s been established that once Kent’s rookie gets in from Texas and moves in, Kent will return from his penthouse. Then Kent will have a project to put all his time into, at least until the season starts. For now, Troy is more than willing to deal with Kent. How Kent ended up with such a good friend, he’ll never know. God only knows the myriad of reasons Kent doesn’t deserve a supportive and understanding person. 

“Your eggs are going to get cold then they’ll be gross and you won’t want to eat them,” Troy points out. 

Scraps would eat them, Kent thinks morosely and then pauses and considers his thought pattern. Is this what a breakup feels like? He’s sad all the time and has to stop himself from texting Scraps at least three times a day. 

“You’ve been silent all day,” Troy tries again. “You haven’t even complained that the yolk is too runny and mixed up with your hash browns.”

Kent looks down at the mess on his plate and makes a face. He’s definitely not eating that anymore. Shoving the plate away, Kent sighs heavily and drops his head onto the table. There’s a scraping as Troy dump’s Kent’s untouched meal onto his own plate. 

“I know you said you weren’t talking about the Scraps thing,” Kent opens with, voice muffled onto the table. “But I need to talk about the Scraps thing.”

There’s a clattering as Troy drops his fork onto a plate. It’s followed by a heavy sigh and what Kent knows is definitely an eye roll. Troy’s signature sound and look of exasperation. Often fond and directed at Kent, but known to be a sign that Kent is nearing the edge of Troy’s patience. Kent really hopes its the former. 

“Jesus Christ, Parser. I said that years ago when I thought you and Scraps were being fucknuts,” Troy says carefully. “How old was I? How old were you? We both had a lot to learn.”

“Oh,” Kent says miserably. 

He lifts his head and sees Troy looking at him, full of concern and the tiniest bit of ‘are fucking kidding me right now.’

“I haven’t been texting you all summer because I thought you didn’t want to hear it,” Kent confesses. 

“You are a real special type of idiot. Haven’t we been here before? When you have a problem, just tell me,” Troy says. “I know you’ve got issues and I’ll try to put this in a way that will get through your thick skull and stay there: You and me, Kent? We’re fucking forever. As much as you think I’m stuck with you – you’re stuck with me.”

Kent cracks a smile and a feeling of warmth and affection spreading through him. Said with enough conviction, Kent believes Troy. He knows he’s not alone in this and Troy isn’t going anywhere. Now Kent doesn’t really understand why, but he’s glad Troy is here. Kent makes a mental note to call his therapist after breakfast. There’s a lot of shit he needs to continue working through. Thinking Troy, the most stable and understanding person in Kent’s life, wasn’t there for him was a huge lapse in Kent’s thinking and self-loathing. 

“So go ahead, I’m all ears.”

“Scraps and I haven’t been the same since he broke up with Arielle. I thought it had to do with his contract and then that’s what he told me, but Arielle told me it was a lie and that they broke up partly because Scraps had feelings for me,” Kent says in a rush. “And he texted me at the end of the season saying ‘I miss you’ and I don’t know what that fucking means! He was the one avoiding me! So I flew to Winnipeg to make it right but we just ended up fighting all summer until we both gave up. Then we went to dinner and I kissed him and he rejected me – then I left because I knew we couldn’t be friends.”

“That’s a lot to unpack,” Troy says very slowly. 

“Yeah. My life is a soap opera,” Kent groans. 

“You don’t have a secret twin, so I think you’re good.”

“Not _yet_ ,” Kent clarifies and feels a bit of relief when Troy laughs. 

“Do you’ve decided you and Scraps can’t be friends anymore. Why?”

“I want to be in a relationship with him. He doesn’t with me. It fucking sucks,” Kent says. “I’m tired of him yanking me around.”

“You’re being a little dramatic,” Troy says. “Scraps is your best friend. Maybe you need time to sort yourself out, but don’t cut him out of your life.”

“He did it easily to me,” Kent shoot backs bitterly. 

“Be the better person,” Troy urges. “I get you need time. It’s been a lot. Over the years – the two of you have been a time bomb.”

“No we haven’t. I got over it the first time,” Kent says. “All this stuff now – wanting to be with him is different. I didn’t want that before.”

Troy gives him a look and Kent knows he’s in for it. 

“Scraps broke up with you and it was a messy break up. He got a clean end and a new relationship and you were left with frayed edges. It’s a raw nerve, but you’re really good at pretending to be okay. The thing with Zimmermann really fucked you up, Parser. You’ve convinced yourself you don’t need closure, but I’ve been watching for years. Your mask is good, but things slip through. And it was only a matter of time until it all blew up in your face.”

“Like now.”

“Or the past year. Don’t pretend you suddenly just got feelings for Scraps. I’ve been watching this shit leak through for years.”

Sighing deeply, Kent knows Troy is right. He hates to admit it. Everything has been bubbling under the surface, kept below by Kent’s carefully curated facade. 

“You deserve closure, Kent,” Troy says so earnestly it makes Kent wince. “Take some time to figure your shit out but don’t sit here and mope and pretend you don’t want to be friends with Scraps anymore. I know for sure he doesn’t want that either. Talk to him, _really_ talk to him not whatever bullshit you were doing during the summer.”

“Ok.”

“Scraps doesn’t want to hurt you,” Troy assures him. “He doesn’t mean to jerk you around – he didn’t know Kent. You were really good at hiding your feelings for him, had me fooled for a while too.”

“But Scraps knows everything about me,” Kent protests. 

Scraps is the difficult one to read, Kent wants to say. Kent’s always been an open book – his heart on his sleeve. 

“No, he doesn’t,” Troy says lightly. “You’ve both put your walls ups. I think it’s time the two of you had an honest look at yourselves and a solid discussion about what’s really bothering you.”

“Thanks Troy.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Kent laughs. He’s pretty sure Troy didn’t sign up for this level of drama when the Front Office told him Kent would be living for him. Kent definitely hopes Moretti brings some sort of stability and emotional maturity with him because without it, Moretti will need to wait some time for Kent to sort his own shit out. 

“Now you need to eat. I’ll make scrambled eggs,” Troy says smiling. “Hard yolks are an affront to breakfasts everywhere. But we will be having pancakes next year, so deal with your issues by then.”

Later, Kent sits on the tiny bed he and Scraps spent so many nights curled up together in. Taking his phone he looks at the halted conversation with Scraps and begins to type out an apology. Before long, he jams the backspace key and takes it all back. Hitting the call button, he decides this is a conversation to be had speaking to one another – so nothing is lost. 

But when the phone rings twice and goes straight to voicemail, Kent knows Scraps doesn’t want to talk to him anymore. But he still leaves the voicemail. 

“Hey Drew – I know walking away yesterday wasn’t cool. I’m sorry. I was just – the summer was a lot, you know? I need some time and space to figure it out. Give me a call when you have a chance, I have some things I want to talk about. I’m sorry, please call.”

  
  


XXXXX

OCTOBER 2015

Losses are hard. Losing to the team that knocked them out of playoff contention last year is harder. Getting shutout in chippy game at home is the fucking worst. Kent marches off the ice, jaw set and eyes focused on only getting him to the stall. Most of the crowd left early in the third, those that remained were either silent or booing them. They all owe Novak some serious apologies for leaving him out to dry – their defensive breakdowns allowed the other team one-on-ones with the goalie. A series of easy goals broke their resolve. 

The Aces haven’t been great this season. Struggling to find their feet on the ice, keeping their head in the game. Everyone outside of the team has a different opinion. Novak is a terrible goalie. Hopkins drafted poorly and traded away good veterans at the end of the last season. Keller can’t coach and no one is listening to him. Kent knows the real issue, he and Scraps are causing a locker room issue and it’s creating a divide in the room. 

Without a unified leadership front, the team is lost. It’s Kent’s job to go out of the ice and spark something in the team. Instead, he’s distracted by Scraps’ cold shoulder and silence. Everyone’s noticed it by now. Koci and Tady pulled him aside last week and asked if there was anything they could do. Troy has been simultaneously keeping his distance and never leaving Kent’s side, giving him the eyes whenever Scraps avoids contact. Swoops tiptoes around the apartment and Scraps’ name – Kent feels the worst about that one. Like he’s forcing Swoops to fill some sort of void. 

Looking at his team, broken down, and exhausted and on a skid that has analysts already calling the season a bust – Kent needs to step up. It’s time to stop force Scraps’ hand. Kent’s waited long enough. 

Keller comes into the room and he sounds defeated as he addresses them. There’s not much to say as he stares the room down. Kent meets his eyes evenly when Keller stops at him. When he moves on Scraps in the stall beside him, Kent can feel Scraps’ entire body tighten. He’s not immune to this either – he’s as aware of the situation as much as Kent is. 

Finally, Keller lets them go with promises of a tough practice to come. The room is morose as people pour our – there’s not much to say. There’s no answers for the media as they keep asking, ‘What went wrong that game?’ or ‘Where’s the energy?’ No one has answers because no one can fix this except for Kent and Scraps. Cliches fill the silence. ‘The pucks aren’t bouncing our way.’ Kent has said it dozens of times in the past month as everyone grapples for the right thing to say. 

Enough is enough. 

Reaching over, Kent brushes a hand over Scraps’ arm. Scraps flinches away from it, giving Kent a hard stare – demanding an answer. 

“We need to talk,” Kent says using his captain voice. 

He leaves no room for argument. This isn’t an option. It’s no longer just about Scraps and Kent’s personal life. It’s spilled over into the team. That’s unacceptable. Hockey has been Kent’s one escape for so long and he’s not going to let anything mess with the sanctity of the team. 

Scraps shrugs him off and goes through his methodical pattern of cleaning up. He goes slowly, perhaps taking even longer to delay the inevitable. But Kent is patient. Leaning back in the stall, he folds his hands behind his head and waits. Despite all the tension between them, it’s soothing watching Scraps go through his routine. It’s familiar and comforting – what Kent’s been use to happening beside him for years. 

Finally, Scraps wraps up, tapping his hand on his helmet. Bringing his shoulders up to his ears, Scraps steels himself and turns to face Kent. It’s his battle face. Kent hates it. When did it come to this? When did they become so apprehensive around each other that a simple conversation is a chore?

“Not here,” Kent says and leads them to one of the small video rooms. 

People are still milling around and Kent knows better than to have this type of discussion publicly. Even if was a more trivial issue, a poor attitude from a teammate, Kent values discretion. He made that mistake in confronting Poppy all those years ago. It earned him respect with many, but Poppy never saw him the same way. 

Closing the door behind him, Kent turns to watch Scraps pace back and forth in the room like a caged animal.

“This has to stop,” Kent says. 

“What’s this?” Scraps sneers.

Kent gestures helplessly between them. 

“This thing that’s been growing between us for almost a year. We can’t keep doing this. We can’t pretend it’s okay. We can’t keep fighting. It’s time to be adults,” Kent says. 

“You were pretty mature when you walked away from me at the airport.”

Scraps folds his arms across his chest, closing himself off from Kent. For the first time, Kent sees how much he had hurt Scraps. Pulling one of the chairs, Kent leans onto it and focuses on his breathing, trying to keep himself calm and collected. Across the room, Scraps is refusing to meet his eyes. When Kent looks up, Scraps has put the table between them. The room is so small that the distance is almost nothing, but for the two of them – it’s infinite. 

“You rejected me. I was going through some shit. I tried to apologize and you never returned my call. It’s the same shit from the summer. I’m done waiting for you.”

“I’m done waiting for you too,” Scraps snaps. “Look you want to talk? Then tell me, why did you stay? I kept pushing you away and yet you stayed.”

Kent stares him down trying to not let it show how taken aback he is by the question. The unfortunate truth is Kent doesn’t really have an answer. His own lack of self-preservation? A commitment to their friendship? The desperate need to be around Scraps even though Kent knows his feelings are unreturned? All of them sound desperate and pathetic. They swirl around in his head, complicating everything. 

But Kent’s in no mood to be defenseless around Scraps. He’s said everything he needs to say and put himself out there. No matter what Troy said, Kent has opened himself up. Scraps remains an enigma. It’s like Kent is entering this fight with a hand tied behind his back. If they’re going to get anywhere, Scraps is going to need to open up.

“What did you mean? Why did you say I miss you and then treat me like a fucking pariah?” Kent deflects.

Scraps unravels. Uncoiling his body, Scraps draws himself to his full height and meets Kent’s eyes, unwavering and openly vulnerable. Placing his hands on the table, Scraps takes a shuddering breath like mentioning the taboo text has finally unlocked something. Kent knows he has him – knows he’ll finally get the answers he wants. The words pour out easily, like Scraps has wanted to say this for so long. 

“It wasn’t like I expected you to jump on a plane and come to Winnipeg. I missed you, Kent! We hadn’t spoken for real in months. You were so caught up in Jack that you became an entirely different person. I can’t fucking stand you when you’re so far up Zimmermann’s ass, I don’t even recognize you.”

Tightening his jaw, Kent shakes his head in disbelief. Scraps takes too many liberties in what he knows about Kent and Jack. There’s been too many assumptions made and Scraps has written his own narrative – put himself into a place he doesn’t belong. The Jack Thing is Kent’s issue, not Scraps to insert himself as he pleases. 

“I can’t believe I let you get away with lying to me. I was so tired of fighting that I just let it go that you fed me lies all summer about your contract and Winnipeg,” Kent says dredging up maybe not the second half of this argument, but another one developed because of it. 

“Why would I tell you the truth? You can’t handle any sort of criticism on Zimmermann. For the life of me I don’t get it. He fucking abandoned you!” 

Scraps’ voice breaks. Disbelief. Hurt. Kent doesn’t know and he doesn’t particularly care. Scraps’ anger is confusing. Things start to clear in Kent’s mind – Scraps unwillingness to talk and seemingly random anger. Kent knows this battle. Angry with himself for letting Jack continue to own space in his mind and angry with Jack for everything. It’s not an easy thing to parse out, but Kent at least knows when and where to place blame with himself or with Jack. 

“This isn’t about Jack – it’s about me and you.” Kent says slowly. 

“I don’t know how to spell this out for you. It’s always been about Jack! It’s impossible to escape Jack Fucking Zimmermann with you.”

“What happened between me and Jack, it’s in the past. You can’t just add yourself to this narrative. There’s two parts to this story: me and you and then me and Jack.”

Scraps makes a noise of frustration. 

“No Kent. It’s never been about just me and you. It’s always been me, you, and Zimmermann. He’s a ghost hanging over our heads. And every time I think oh Kent’s been through so much, I should give him a pass – you drag me back into this. I can’t be with someone who is so wrapped up in their shitty ex they don’t see how it affects others. You need to deal with your shit.”

“You know that’s bullshit right? I know how to separate you and me and me and Jack right?” Kent snaps. 

“Do you?” Scraps challenges. “Because you spent the entire back half of the season so wrapped up in whatever happened in December you didn’t even notice I had backed off.”

“Of course I noticed!” Kent shouts. “I noticed every damn day! I’d look at my phone and see we haven’t texted each other for real since November. Fuck you, you don’t get to say I’m wrapped up in Jack when I spent the last fourth months fucked up over you.”

Scraps stands there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. His hands flex at his side, like he doesn’t know what to do. Like he didn’t expect Kent to actually care. 

“I know the difference between you and Jack. I knew it every damn day when I could tell you I was upset and you’d listen, but now,” Kent pauses and his voice drops. “I’m not sure of that anymore. This person you are – thinking that I’m caught up over Jack. Testing me? It’s not what good people do, and I don’t have to do deal with it.”

Pulling back, Scraps looks like he’s been slapped. His eyes wide, Scraps is reeling from the Kent’s words. Kent watches the thoughts grow and die on Scraps’ tongue as he tries to think of some sort of comeback. After calling Scraps out on his bullshit – there’s really only talking about it left. And he can watch Scraps’ body language shift as the confession comes to the top. An answer.

Kent wasn’t really aware of how loud their argument had become until the door slams open and Troy is standing there, angrier than Kent’s ever seen him. Breathing through his nose, he takes a moment and stares them both down. Looking down guiltily, Kent avoids eye contact. But from the corner of his eye he can see Scraps staring at Troy defiantly.

“That’s enough,” Troy orders. “Fucking idiots still acting like rookies. I thought you two could hash this out like adults, but you’re going to need real fucking counselling for this.”

“Fuck you, Troy. If you weren’t enabling him, maybe he’d finally face the facts,” Scraps spits. “Parser may need a pseudo-dad to hold his hand and fight his battles, but I don’t have to put up with this shit.”

Scraps starts to make his way through the room, shouldering past Kent. Troy puts an arm across the doorway and continues to stare Scraps down. 

“You don’t want to do this,” Troy says. “Sit down and we’ll talk about this.”

“I’m not your rookie and I never was,” Scraps spits. “Get out of my way.”

Troy relents and drops his arm, eyes hard. Kent watches Scraps storm out of the room and down the hall. Outside there’s a wide-eyed employee, arms full of tape. Meeting Kent’s eyes, she skitters off down the hall. After a long while, the rigid line in Troy’s shoulder relax and he turns to look at Kent. 

Troy’s always been good for an easy smile after a fight or a hard time. Kent’s never seen him look so serious or uneasy. 

“This isn’t good,” Troy says. “You’re going to need a lot more than just hashing it out.”

Kent shakes his head. 

“No, he was going to tell me,” Kent insists. 

“You were yelling loud enough that I could hear you from the bikes, Parser. It didn’t sound like anything good was going to happen.”

“Trust me,” Kent says. “I know Scraps. He’s ready.”

“I don’t like this,” Troy says. “It isn’t right or healthy the way the two of you have been going back and forth. I don’t know if you two can simply fix this.”

“Scraps isn’t as emotionally balanced as I thought,” Kent says faintly. “We all have our issues we need to get through.”

“I trust you, Kent. I just don’t want to see you and Scraps – you two are a constant. It will break the team if you can’t figure it out.”

Kent sighs. Of course he knows that. 

“It’s me and him against the world, we’ll figure it out.”

XXXXX

  
  


JUNE 2009

There’s a very real possibility Kent isn’t supposed to be here. But he’s done with his responsibilities for the day – showed off how fast he is, how accurate his shot is, and talked to the media. The stuff Kent is good at. Charming the pants off of hockey reporters and showing off his one of a kind skating ability. Tomorrow, when Kent will have to go through the physical trials, that will be the real pain. He’s smaller and less physical than a lot of guys here and it might expose his weaknesses and alter his chances of being drafted First Overall. 

However, that’s not what’s on Kent’s mind. 

What is is simple. It’s time to collect Jack and hide away from the media in Jack’s hotel room. Maybe some other sort of shenanigans. Done early, Kent’s looking forward to watching Jack in action. There’s nothing hotter than his lazer focus and muscles on display. It’s what has propelled Kent through the day, that in a few short hours – Jack will be all his again. Not the NHL’s, not the media’s, not the coaches’ and GM’s – just Kent’s.

But Kent only has a vague idea of where Jack is supposed to be. The complex where the Combine is taking place is winding and the media area is almost in a whole different universe. He meanders through hallways and eavesdrops for hints. With enough confidence and looking like he belongs, no one questions him. 

Finally, Kent arrives at a track area. There’s a lot of tall, built, and dark haired hockey players so Kent assumes he must be in the right place. (They clearly divided the groups by certain characteristics, Kent notes.) The room is filled with a myriad of staff running trials as well as many men in suits watching from a distance. Kent thinks the whole thing is voyeuristic and weird. Most of them are still kids. 

There’s a divider keeping access off of the track but no security stopping Kent from walking right up to it. The closest guy to him is focused on some battle ropes. Kent can’t help but be mesmerized by the line of his back and the muscles of his arms flexing with each pulse. The guy is taller than Jack and considerably thicker. A defensemen, no doubt. 

No one seems to be paying any particular mind to him as he works, keeping the ropes going on at a constant and breakneck speed. Jaw flexing, Kent is drawn to the thick sheen of sweat on his neck. He’s really fucking attractive.

Finally, the pulsations of the ropes stop and he takes care to make sure he doesn’t lose control of them. Kent watches as he gently sets them on the ground then looks to the invigilator with a hopeful look. Now with a better view of his face, Kent recognizes him as Andrew Oyer – a top prospect from the WHL. Kent hasn’t been paying much mind to other prospects, feeling confident in his place in the draft order, but it’s all Jack and Bob talk about. Kent could name the top twenty prospects, their height and weight, team etcetera etcetera off the top of his head. 

(Andrew Oyer, 6’5, 201 pounds, born in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Left Hand Defencemen. Mean slapshot and a meaner left hook.)

Oyer’s face falls when the invigilator remains stony. He looks around and seems disappointed when none of the suits seem to be focused on him either. Jack must be doing something somewhere – he has that sort of effect on people. Kent’s sure he’ll be a central focus tomorrow too. Instead, Oyer’s gaze lands on Kent, leaning against the divider and very clearly staring at him. 

At the back of his mind, Kent wonders what Oyer sees. 5’10, only 165 pounds, mostly messy blond hair and blue-grey eyes. Nothing of note on the ice – someone Oyer could easily take out. If he could catch Kent that is. Oyer’s probably pretty slow and Kent has never had an issue getting around slow, hulking blue liners. 

They just stare at each other, Oyer clearly caught off guard from finding Kent here. It’s a little bit of a vulnerable situation. All the prospects are giving everything they’ve got to impress somebody. Some of them have it easier than others. Oyer turns away and makes his way to do something else. 

“Giving up so soon?” Kent calls. 

Oyer stalls and turns back to stare at him. Kent throws on his most dazzling half-smile. 

“I don’t think you could lift these ropes with your arms,” Oyer shoots back and flexes his own arms. “It would take three of those twigs to make one of mine.”

Rolling his eyes, Kent leaps over the barricade. The invigilator makes a noise but pauses as recognition passes his across face. Is anyone really going to say no to Kent Parson? Skipping over to Oyer, Kent gives him a quick once over and meets Oyer with what he knows is his best shit-eating grin.

“Those tree trunks would slow me down,” Kent says. “How else am I supposed to embarrass you on the ice?”

“All speed,” Oyer retorts. “You’re basically glass, one good hit and you’re out. It’s up to guys like me to keep you out of trouble.”

Kent wrinkles his nose. While he finds the idea of Oyer crushing an opposing defender for Kent quite appealing – getting slammed against the boards by him is much less amusing.

“I don’t really think they condone violence here,” Kent says, popping his lips afterwards. He leans forward and pokes Oyer’s arms. “Anyways, I’ve heard you have an impressive shot. I’d like to see it in action.”

“And I’ve heard you’re good for a set up or two,” Oyer replies. “Though I’m surprised you know who I am, all things considered.”

Kent rattles off his stats and Oyer’s lips quirk, clearly impressed. 

“Kent Parson,” Kent says. “Kind of a big deal.”

“A little full of yourself are we?” Oyer says. 

“One. It’s considered rude to not introduce yourself after someone else has done so,” Kent replies. “Two, you basically just admitted I’m good yourself.”

He likes their banter. It’s an easy back and forth Kent hasn’t found with a lot of other people. Most players either consider him an extension of Jack or an arrogant hotshot not worth knowing. It’s nice to find someone who respects Kent’s skill. 

“Andrew Oyer, call me Drew,” Oyer says. 

Kent smiles at him genuinely.

“Do you give up so easily on all your tasks or just the ones when the ropes are a little too heavy?” Kent asks gesturing to the ropes. 

Is there any hope in hell he could lift those ropes himself? Absolutely not. But Oyer doesn’t really need to know that. 

“I could easily bench you,” Oyer retorts. “Meanwhile you probably don’t lift anything heavier than a hockey stick.”

“I carry the weight of Zimmermann’s ego,” Kent replies. 

Oyer lets out a bark of laughter. 

“That I don’t doubt,” he says. 

Kent leans a little closer and smirks up at Oyer. 

“I’d love to see you try and bench me,” he challenges. “But first you’d have to catch me.”

Kent turns to hurry back over the barrier, but before he can take a step Oyer has his hands wrapped around his waist. Holy shit, the _reflexes_ on this guy. His hands are strong, holding Kent firm and steady. The flush comes to Kent’s face unbidden as Oyer easily throws Kent over his shoulders. The sweat on Oyer’s skin is ruining Kent’s suit. His _only_ suit. He needs it for Draft Day. 

“I could probably go for a run,” Oyer says casually. “What do you think?”

“You proved your point,” Kent says, laughing sarcastically. “Put me down.”

“Nah,” Oyer says and starts doing a few squats because apparently he’s a huge asshole. 

They’re starting to draw a bit of commotion as everyone else is wrapping up around them. The invigilator is kicking up a fuss, insisting that Oyer is going to injure Kent. It only makes Oyer’s fingers curl a bit more tightly around Kent hips. Kent, always one for being the centre of attention, is starting to enjoy the ride when Oyer abruptly stops. He takes extreme care setting Kent back onto the ground. 

“I was just starting to have fun,” Kent complains. 

“And your buddy looks like he’s going to kill me with his mind,” Oyer says. 

Oyer jerks his thumb over to his left and sure enough Jack is staring at him, blue eyes ice cold and mouth in a tight line. Kent’s not really sure who he’s more pissed off with. But Jack’s impossible read. Especially now with the anxiety of the Draft looming over him. 

“I should go,” Kent says. “I don’t really think it would look good if I got kicked out of the Combine.”

“Good idea,” Oyer says and he’s smiling again. “It was nice to put a personality to the face, Kent Parson. You’re as much a spitfire as they say. I look forward to playing against you one day and getting a real good check in.”

“Likewise, Andrew Call-me-Drew Oyer. But you’ll have to catch me first,” Kent says. “I’m faster on skates.”

He winks and heads back to the barricade, easily jumping over it and disappearing back into the maze of buildings to hide away until Jack cools down. 

(Kent snuck in to watch Jack. Instead he found Andrew Oyer. It’s a choice he’s never regretted.)

XXXXX

  
  


OCTOBER 2015

It’s an off day. No practice – no commitments to the team. Well for regular people. Kent often spends his off day talking rookies off of ledges, coaching vets through cold streaks, and in general putting out fires. He never really expected to have to put out his own fires. Even when he was a rookie, Kent liked to think he kept most of his issues contained. (Troy would argue that to death, but Kent always smartly points out he still won the Calder, so most of his emotional breakdowns went under the radar.)

It takes Kent some time to actually realize he needs to do something about Scraps. Wandering around his apartment, he idly tidies. Swoops smartly remains in his room. After all of this, Kent is going to owe his rookie big for the shit he’s had to deal in his first month living with Kent. 

Finally, he calls to Swoops that he’s heading out and jumps into his car. Without much thought, he drives all the way to Scraps’ home.

Unlike his home in Winnipeg, it’s much more urban and smaller. He and Arielle picked it out together last summer. The neighbourhood is nice and at the back of his mind Kent is aware of a few schools in the area. This was the home Scraps was going to start a family in. 

He remembers Scraps drunkenly detailing his plans to turn his backyard into a paradise for kids and how he’d adapt it as they aged. If they had anything close to Winnipeg winters in Vegas, Scraps would’ve built an outdoor rink – with or without kids. It’s a fond memory Scraps shares with his father, setting up the pieces every year and maintaining the surface for his daily chores. It was like having a dog, Scraps said. Kent wouldn’t know. He had neither. 

Sitting in the driveway, Kent shuts off the ignition. His fingers white knuckle the steering wheel and his feet are lead. It’s impossible to get up and make the short walk from the car to Scraps’ front door. All that talk to Troy the other day about knowing it was time and Scraps was ready? Absolute bullshit. What is Kent supposed to say that was different from the dozens of other times he’s had this conversation with Scraps?

There’s not much difference here. Their arguments have been back and forth, gaining and losing progress. Kent has little confidence Scraps is as willing to talk as he was yesterday. Stuck in his car, Kent focuses on the lines of Scrap’s garage and tries to breath. 

Every conversation recently has gone sour – ending in an argument. There’s no hope for their friendship at this point. It’s no longer salvageable. Simultaneously, there’s been too much silence and too much said to rekindle anything. 

Kent’s mind is spinning a mile a minute. He tries to focus his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and thinks of it as a game day. The biggest game of life. 

“Get your head in the game, Parson,” he whispers to himself. “This is Scraps, your best friend. You can do this. Get out of the car and just go talk to him. It’s time.”

Breathing a few more times, Kent feels his jumping pulse settle. The anxiety is still high – he’s never particularly enjoyed confrontation. His childhood was filled with his parents’ screaming matches – his father’s temper – and the fraying marriage they never quite fully pulled the plug on. Kent is grateful everyday he was sent to live with his grandmother. 

A knock jerks Kent out of his thoughts. Snapping his eyes open he turns to see Scraps’ standing sheepishly at the passenger window. He points down at the door. Panicking briefly, Kent tries to roll down the window before he remembers the car is off. Reaching over, he pulls the handle and opens the door. Without hesitation, Scraps gets in and settles in the passenger seat. He looks more relaxed than Kent feels and despite the brief flare of irritation, Kent is pleased to know Scraps isn’t coming into this conversation already elevated. 

Taking a deep breath, Scraps finally starts the narrative.

“I think for these types of relationships to work, we need to meet halfway. I haven’t been very good at that.”

“You talked to Arielle?” Kent asks. 

Scraps huffs in laughter and nods. 

“And Troy. And my mom. And my sister. Pretty much everyone who knew I was being an asshole to you and hated me for it,” Scraps admits. “I’ve done some soul searching over the past twenty four hours.”

“That’s good to hear,” Kent admits quietly. 

There’s the tiniest feeling of appreciation that goes through him, knowing all these people in Scraps’ life stood up for him. 

“I was pretty much the biggest asshole to Troy ever yesterday.”

“He’ll get over it. He had to put up with me through my teenage angst,” Kent says quietly. 

Scraps shakes his head. Both of them are staring straight ahead, never making eye contact. Kent thinks it’s better that way, but he still chances a look at Scraps and watches his hands flex against his jeans. He takes a shuddering breath and from the corner of his eye, Kent can see Scraps shifting. Drawing his eyes upwards, Kent slowly meets Scraps’ heavy gaze. It’s a weird feeling, being both pinned down 

“It’s not okay. I’ve been unfair to you for almost a year and you’ve been doing your best to understand, to make it work. It’s unacceptable and I’m ashamed it’s taken me this long, plus a rather heavy intervention by my mom, to get here,” Scraps says. “Not only do I owe you the truth – you deserve it but I owe you a million apologies. More than anything, you’ve never done anything to deserve less than honesty from me.”

“Sometimes it takes time to get these things straight in your brain,” Kent replies. 

“I don’t want excuses. There are none,” Scraps says. “So many people have let you down in your life, Kent. It’s been so hard watching you just accept it as an inevitability. That everyone is going to let you down and abandon you. I can’t be one of those people. I don’t want to be one of those people. I could never forgive myself if I was just another Zimmermann.”

Kent shakes his head. 

“There’s no way you could ever even exist in the vicinity of Jack,” Kent insists. “Even just being near you – it was something that’s healed me. Helped me along.

Scraps makes a vaguely frustrated sound. 

“It’s hard to explain. I’m mad at you every time you let Zimmermann get a pass but I’m mad at myself for being mad at you,” Scraps says. “It’s fucked up. It makes me so angry, knowing he’s always going to be hanging over our heads.”

“There’s no ‘our’ heads here,” Kent says flatly.

Looking away, Scraps turns back to the garage. Kent doesn’t look away – watching Scraps’ jaw flex. He fiddles with the hem of shirt, refusing to meet Kent’s eyes. That doesn’t bode well for the direction of their conversation. 

“I can’t be in a relationship with someone who’s still hung up over a dude who didn’t even like them that much.”

That was a bomb. Floored, Kent reaches over to grab Scraps – to make him look at him but pulls back recognizing that as a bad choice. He looks at the garage, suddenly overwhelmed with the situation. 

“I thought – when we were in my bedroom, maybe this could work. We could figure it out,” Scraps continues. “That we could get over Zimmermann. He wouldn’t be a skeleton in the closet and it could finally just be us. But then you freaked out and I knew, we couldn’t do it. Us, we weren’t going to work.”

Kent kind of wants to laugh. This all some sort of horrible miscommunication. Troy would call them both idiots in the non-fond way for the absolute bullshit they’ve been putting each other through. Remembering what Troy said about closure and moving on, Kent finally gets it. The two of them should really remember Troy has always known best.

“Maybe we shouldn’t rely so much on silent cues anymore,” Kent says, a teasing edge slip into his voice. 

“Now isn’t the time for jokes,” Scraps says voice tight. 

“I’ve gone back to therapy,” Kent says. “Back in August, first thing I did after I got back from Winnipeg.”

“Good for you,” Scraps snips. “I sent you back to therapy. Cool.”

Kent shakes his head laughing. 

“Troy called me out and said I needed closure. From Jack. From you.”

Scraps whips his head around to stare at Kent. Eyes wide, Kent meets them evenly. 

“We’ve – I’ve – deluded myself into thinking we had a clean break. I didn’t,” Kent says. “I spent years sweeping my feelings under the rug and pushing them aside every time they came up. This last year, I couldn’t get them to disappear again and I had convinced myself you were never going to want me the same way I wanted you.”

Something dawns on Scraps too. His eyes get a bit brighter and his cheeks flush in shame. A small smile curls at the corners of his mouth. 

“Okay so it has to do a bit with Jack. I was always way too invested into that relationship and when we started messing around as rookies, I didn’t want to freak you out so I convinced myself to be casual,” Kent says. “And you know how it is, I get so wrapped up in my thoughts and perceptions, it’s all I think about. I was convinced all you ever wanted was casual. So when you showed interest, all I knew was that I couldn’t put myself through that again.”

“God,” Scraps sighs. “Troy is going to have a field day with this.”

“Maybe we don’t tell him about this,” Kent says lightly. “Unless you’ve been keeping him as up to date as I have.”

“Unfortunately, I have.”

God, they really were idiots. 

“Why didn’t you leave?” Scraps asks. “You should’ve left, maybe the time apart would’ve made everything easier instead of letting us fester in our feelings. Self-fulfilling prophecies and shit.”

Kent looks away, refusing to meet Scraps’ again. 

“It’s fucked up, but I thought if I left – I’d lose you.”

“Parser,” Scraps says softly. 

Kent holds fast, looking anywhere but Scraps. But Scraps’ hand wraps itself gently around Kent’s wrist and draws Kent’s attention to him. The touch is grounding and Kent can feel his pulse fluttering underneath Scraps’ fingers. Scraps face is serious. 

“I’m not holding you to that promise,” Kent mumbles, embarrassed. 

“I don’t care,” Scraps says seriously. “I made a promise and I have absolutely no intention of breaking it. But that’s not just it. I have a commitment to you. To _us_.”

“It’s stupid,” Kent says. “I was drunk and lonely and _god_ Scraps. I’ve never had anyone in my life willing to stay for me. I thought if I left you in that house alone without fixing if – you’d never forgive me for whatever I did.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Scraps says, miserable and head low in shame. 

“Still, you were mad and not talking to me and what was I supposed to think?” Kent says. 

“I’m so sorry,” Scraps blurts. “I never want to put you through that again. If I could, I would take it all back. Kent, I am so sorry. I couldn’t get out of my own head long enough to see how fucked up I was behaving.”

Kent tries to pull his hand out of Scraps’ hold. He feels like crying and just wants to curl up in a ball alone. Fuck Scraps for being so earnest and open and – it really fucking hurts. Kent is still so raw from the summer, from the past weeks. They were trapped in that round and round for so long, Kent doesn’t know what to do now that it’s all in the open. He’s so exposed and lost. 

Scraps holds tight, keeping them linked. Despite every instinct telling him to run, to be alone and let the feelings spiral – Kent feels safe with Scraps. He knows Scraps doesn’t want to hurt him, that he’ll do everything in his power to make sure it doesn't happen again. For almost every person in Kent’s life, he doesn’t know if he has that same level of trust. But Scraps, no matter what – it’s them against the world. 

“I miss us,” Scraps says desperately and _oh_. 

Kent finally gets it. 

He blinks. 

“I forgive you,” Kent says. 

Surging forward, their faces smack into each other. Both laughing, Kent falls back into his seat and covers his face with his arm. 

“We’re never going to get this right are we?” Kent says, exasperated. 

“We got time. We’ll figure it out.”

As for the umpteenth try at a first kiss goes, Kent thinks this one is probably the best. 

XXXXX

DECEMBER 2015

The team comes in hot. Kent can feel the energy building in the soccer circle and by the time everyone is coming off the ice for warmups – he knows this game is going to be one of the best of the season. Coach Keller is feeling it too, but looks to Kent, and they both know that while the energy is good, it can easily become chaotic. It’s part of Kent’s job to be their anchor – to tame the energy. 

The arena is filled with electricity too – the fans erupting as the lights go out and the announcer begins the process of introducing the team. Everyone is bouncing back and forth and at the right cue, everyone hustles out and bursts onto the ice. Kent sticks back with Troy as usual. He bumps fists with everyone, rubbing his glove on Swoops’ helmet, and grins at Scraps as he hurries past. The smile Scraps gives him is sharp and looking for trouble. A little shiver goes down Kent’s spine as Scraps disappears. 

Finally, Troy grabs the back of his neck and pulls their faces in close. Kent closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before opening to meet Troy’s steady gaze. Kent nods and pulls away, heading out onto the ice and welcoming the almost overwhelming cascade of noise that hits him when he exits the tunnel.

The ice is perfect under his skates and Kent feels like he’s skating on nothing. The team does several quick laps around the ice before everyone except the starting line files off to the bench. Kent takes his place at centre ice, sandwiched between Troy and Scraps. Scraps bumps their arms together companionably. 

Everything seems to blow by. Anthems are over and Kent does his quick lap before heading to take his place outside the face off circle. Passing by Scraps, he grins at Kent – quick before smoothing into something serious and focused.

“This is our game,” Scraps says. 

Kent nods and turns his focus to the game. Troy ready for the puck drop, Kent to his right and Scraps behind them. When the puck drops, Troy cleanly wins the face off and the Aces’ domination of the game begins. 

Their line keeps getting a lot of good looks and has the other team scrambling in their own zone. By the time their shift is up, it’s in the hands of the second line. The bench is feeling it too; no one is able to stay seated for too long before the current shift makes a play that has everyone cheering. The fans are loving it and Kent’s entire body is thrumming with excitement. 

By the time it’s the first line’s shift again, it’s time for a full switch. Scraps is ready for another go after a short break and he’s got that glint in his eye. Kent gets on the ice first and he immediately sees Swoops carefully holding puck possession. The other team is making a lazy switch at the same time and Kent sees his opportunity. He and Swoops don’t get to play together often and even rarer do they make any real plays. 

Swoops meets his eyes and nods. Kent takes off down the ice and Swoops is with him. Despite his large size, Swoops has wheels. The other team scrambles, the defenders trying to get into position. Two-on-ones are where Kent thrives. Usually it’s him and Troy, all alone and unstoppable – a finely tuned machine of deciding who gets the pass and who gets the shot. They’ve looked at the stats a few times, it’s much dead even.

But now it’s Swoops with the puck and Kent at his side. Swoops passes at the perfect moment – trusting Kent to get the shot. Kent gets it on his stick easily and sees the path to the opening goal before him. The goalie has a weak blocker side, chip it a little high and Kent’s got it right in. But Kent has a lot of goals. 

Swoops is still right with him and the goalie is trained on Kent. Of course Kent will take the shot – he’s Kent _freaking_ Parson. He fakes and no-looks the puck back to Swoops. The defender goes down to block the shot. The goalie reacts as if Kent shot it. The rookie lets out an embarrassing noise as he receives it, but it’s an easy tap in and a beautiful spray comes up as Swoops breaks hard before crashing into the goalie.

Kent slams into Swoops before Swoops even reacts to the goal. The arena absolutely explodes. Swoops wraps his arms around Kent and throws him into the boards. Behind him, the fans are pounding against the glass – Kent can feel it reverberating all through his body. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” Swoops chants in his ear. 

The other slam into them, shouting at Swoops. 

“Time to lead them,” Kent shouts, trying to be heard over the din of the crowd. 

Their lump disengages and Swoops skates off to the bench. Kent turns to the net – he needs to grab the puck – but Scraps is already there flipping the puck into the air. He smiles at Kent, soft and private – meant for just him.

They slide towards the bench and join the others in high-fiving the others. The entire bench is chaotic, grabbing at Swoops and face washing him. Troy leans over and shakes his shoulder and mouths something Kent can’t quite catch. Swoops still looking shocked and in disbelief, smiles and nods. Whatever it was, it was patented Jeff Troy wisdom. 

“Let’s fucking go boys!” Scraps shouts behind Kent, rounding out the line.

Scraps tosses the puck to trainer and Kent gives a quick elbow in thanks. 

Swoops hits the bench and they complete the shift. As Troy jumps back on the ice for the face-off at centre ice, Swoops’ goal is announced. His first in the NHL – the crowd goes absolutely wild. Kent grins. He loves it. Absolutely loves their fans and this welcome to the Show. Swoops may be a third-pairing defensemen for now, but he’s going to be a real integral piece of their team for years to come. 

The rest of the period continues with equal intensity. The other team can’t get over their defensive breakdown from earlier and are scrambling. Fortunately for them, their goalie still has his head screwed on right and keeps a calm head. All the Aces’ shots are blocked or smothered. It doesn’t change the flow – the team’s energy has only increased with Swoops’ goal.

The first period wraps up 1-0. The second is more or less the same energy, holding back the opposing team and then scoring on the power play. Troy to Tady to Koci and Koci puts it right where it needs to be. Tady leaps onto Koci, nearly crushing him and Kent can’t help put leap into the pile alongside Scraps. He loves this sport. He loves his team. These moments are fleeting, but Kent will keep them forever.

Though the goals are few, the team is confident. Novak is playing beautiful hockey at the other end and preventing any goals during the other team’s few chances. By the third period, the other team is frustrated and getting chippy. When Kent scores the third goal (a beautiful, unassisted shortie) things come to a head. 

There’s some nasty hits – but mostly kept to the fourth line and the blue liners who are larger and can handle it. The first line’s shifts have been reduced in favour of a more defensive style. While a fourth goal would be nice, Keller has his sights on protecting their lead and Novak’s shoutout (though no one would ever admit that aloud). 

But as soon as Kent’s on the ice, it’s like he has a target on his back. Ten seconds into his shift, when he has the puck, he’s cross checked into the boards. The stick hits high, probably never even intended to get Kent in the back, right at the nape of his neck. Hitting the boards awkwardly, Kent crumples. 

In a blink of an eye, Scraps is charging the offending player. Fortunately, Kent has a great deal of experience in this position. Despite the excruciating pain, he rolls away from the small scrum Scraps has started. Tady skates over, putting himself between Kent and the small pile of angry players, while Troy helps Kent to his feet. 

Once the linesmen separate Scraps and the other player, it’s quickly determined Scraps will be getting a penalty. Two minutes for roughing. Kent has to head to the bench, needing to sit and work through the pain. Unfortunately, Scraps is also the Alternate on the ice, both getting to listen and argue his case with the ref. It’s easy to hear Scraps’ outrage from across the rink. 

“How was that not a cross check?” Scraps shouts. “A hit to the head?”

Kent can’t catch the referee’s response but knows it’s some variation of ‘didn’t see it.’ Scraps’ explodes as he’s escorted to the box. Everyone on the bench holds their breath as the penalty kill unit heads out onto the ice. While the game isn’t on the line here, Novak’s shut out is. Hell hath no fury like a goalie who’s been robbed of his shutout by a dumb penalty. 

Though Kent is annoyed at Scraps for losing his head – Kent is _okay –_ he knows the team has it. 

There’s some close calls, but the Aces continue to clear the puck and the penalty expires. The game follows soon after. 

Energy is a dangerous thing to have in a game. If it gets too high, it can become overwhelming and swing favour in the other direction. And yet the Aces managed to tame it. When the final buzzer goes almost drowned out by the arena’s cheers, the energy finally bubbles over. Kent leads the charge off the bench, sweeping Novak into a hug. 

“First shut out of the season!” Kent shouts. 

“Hell fucking yeah!” Novak replies. “Lights out, baby!” 

He makes sure to give every person a hearty pat as they leave the ice. A full team effort – every was absolutely essential to this win. Kent awards Novak the jester hat, but he passes it onto Swoops. First NHL goal trumps another shutout. 

After media, Kent grabs Swoops – hat and all – and shoves the puck into his hand for photos. The trainer taped and labelled it before giving it to Kent. It’s his right as the captain to bestow the puck on the rookie. 

“I still can’t believe I got an NHL goal,” Swoops says in wonder, running his fingers along the edge of the puck. 

“I can’t believe Parser shared,” Scraps says. “He was never that generous when we were rookies. I was always passing to him.”

“I have plenty of goals now,” Kent replies. “Time to share the wealth.”

“Shove over,” Scraps says, wrapping an arm around Swoops’ shoulders. 

“I got him the assist though,” Kent says as he and Swoops shuffle to accommodate Scraps. “You didn’t really do anything.”

“He’s your rookie but he’s part of my blue line. I’m in this picture too.”

The photographer snaps the photo and a few of Swoops on his own before leaving them to their own devices. 

“I got two rookies and now it takes the two of you to manage one. What does this say about my parenting skills?” Troy says. 

“I don’t know if this really counts as parenting,” Swoops says. 

“You don’t understand the drama these two went through as rookies,” Troy faux-whispers to Swoops. “It was basically parenting.”

“Swoops is way less of a handful than me,” Kent assures Troy. “Way more emotionally balanced.”

“Well I am twenty,” Swoops adds. 

“So you’re just a bad mentor then,” Troy says. “In that case I’m glad Scraps is around to help out.”

“I’m more of a cool step-parent,” Scraps says. “I had to accept Kent had a child first but I think I’ve really come into role.”

“Enough writing the lifetime movie!” Koci shouts. “We get it! Kent is the mom and Scraps is the cool step-dad. Let’s head to the bar and hope Swoops lives up to his nickname.”

“I hope he doesn’t,” Tady calls. “First round is on Parser!”

The room cheers and Kent rolls his eyes fondly. Swoops peels off first, escorted out by Troy with promises of a legendary night. Koci and Tady are hot on their heels but not before drawing a promise from Kent that he would indeed by a round of drinks. Since he’s waiting for Scraps, there’s no way Kent’s getting there in time to buy the first round. 

Soon, Scraps and Kent are alone in the locker room. Adjusting his shoulder pads, Scraps turns and smiles at Kent. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he teases. 

“Maybe when you stop with your insane post-game rituals,” Kent says. “We can get out of here at a reasonable time.”

Scraps bumps his shin. 

“You like every ridiculous thing about me.”

“I do,” Kent agrees. “Even when you lose your head on the ice.”

Scraps’ eyes flare. 

“He could’ve really fucked you up. And the refs weren’t calling a damn thing!” Scraps argues. 

“I know,” Kent says. “But we’ve gotta be better. It’s going to happen for the rest of my career.”

Scraps drops into his stall. 

“That fucking sucks,” Scraps says. “You could be seriously injured.”

“I’ve come to terms with it,” Kent says. “But the dumb penalties, just be smarter. If I’m going to get up, let it be. I hate getting mad at you about it, especially when I kind of like you standing up for me.”

Scraps leans into Kent’s shoulder, pushing his face in close and so Kent can feel his breath ghosting against his ear.

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s pretty hot when you get physical. Nothing better than a man who can use his body,” Kent replies, working hard to keep a straight face. 

Scraps breaks first and snorts loudly into Kent’s ears. He drops his forehead to Kent’s shoulder, shaking it. 

“We’re such losers, still flirting through hockey,” Scraps laughs. “It’s a good thing we’re in this together, ‘cause were not getting better.”

“We make it work.”

Scraps leans in and presses a quick kiss to Kent’s cheek. 

“Of course we do,” Scraps says. “Now let’s get to the club and bail the kid out before Koc and Tads ruin his night.”

“And Troy gives us too much shit for being slow.”

“That too.”

They arrive at the club and part ways – Scraps to set the world right with the threat of fines over the rookies’ head and Kent to hold court with the veterans. It’s how they usually start the night, but without words they always gravitate to each other. The old and marrieds leave first, followed by some of the guys who pick up and slowly the holes in Kent’s court start to appear. 

But Scraps slides in next to him always. Arm thrown over Kent’s shoulder, comfortably keeping them close and slotted together. Scraps has always been enough to fill the vacancies in Kent’s life. Him, Troy, and Swoops now are Kent’s family and they’re going to help get him through this shitty season where the words “Zimmermann and Parson” will be on every person’s lips. 

At the end of the night, Scraps helps Kent out of the booth. Together they herd Swoops out of the bar and make sure everyone has a way home. 

“I can’t believe this is my job now,” Scraps sighs as he dumps Swoops into the backseat of his car. 

“You’re dating the captain,” Swoops drunkenly reasons. “You get half his duties.”

“That’s not how relationships work, buddy,” Scraps says, slamming the door shut. “So are we the worst kept secret in the locker room?”

Kent swats at Scraps’ chest. They absolutely are but that’s because they’ve been pretty terrible at hiding it. Scraps wanted to keep it on the down low and he’s usually pretty good at it. Except they went from stony silence to giddy and constantly in each other’s space. There were flags on the play immediately.

“He’s drunk, you have to be nice to him. He’s a lightweight,” Kent says. 

“He’s also twenty, he should know better,” Scraps shoots back .

“You two are such parents,” Troy singsongs, appearing out of nowhere and slinging his arms around their shoulders. 

“Strike out?” Kent asks. 

“Big time. Mind if I crash at your place, Parser?” Troy asks, but he isn’t really asking. 

He pulls open the door Scraps just shut and shoves Swoops out of the way. There’s a muffled protest but Troy yanks the door behind him and Kent only catches the beginning of him telling Swoops to get over it. 

“Have enough room for one more?” Swoops asks, smiling.

He puts his hands on Kent’s hips and brackets him against the car. It’s dark and late and Vegas, where most people don’t know enough about hockey to recognize them on sight. Kent’s had just enough to drink to allow the public display of affection.

“Well it’s your car,” Kent teases. 

“It’s settled then, sleepover at the Captain’s,” Scraps says. “Hope you serve breakfast.”

“Anything other than pancakes.”

They both leap when Troy bangs on the window. Scraps looks moderately ashamed as he slides into the driver’s seat but Kent doesn’t care. Troy has seen worse. _Much_ worse. 

“Don’t rub it in our faces that you two are getting laid when the rest of us aren’t,” Troy says. 

“I could’ve totally stolen Tady’s girl,” Swoops admits.

“You _bastard!_ You _have_ been doing it on purpose,” Scraps turns around to stare at him. 

Kent leans back in his seat and laughs. Scraps starts the car and they take off into the Vegas night. It doesn’t take long for Kent to find Scraps’ hand across the centre console, carefully obscured from the view of the back seat passengers. There’s no need to put Troy through the honeymoon phase twice. 

“What can I say, girls love a sweet Texas boy,” Swoops says hamming up the drawl. 

“God Koci is going to have a field day with this,” Troy says. “Tady might actually have a conniption. We all thought he was crazy.”

“I may be naive but I’m not clueless,” Swoops says. 

“I’m afraid that your rookie is picking up a little too much of you, Parser,” Troy adds. “The last thing we need is another charismatic bastard on the team, all too aware of his charm.”

“He’s not that charming,” Scraps says. 

“It worked on you,” Kent shoots back. 

“Gross,” Swoops says. 

“I hate both of you so much,” Troy sighs dramatically. “I can’t believe I raised you. I can’t believe someone gave you a rookie. The future of this team is doomed.”

“Nah,” Swoops mumbles. “I think we’re in pretty good hands.”

“Shut up you’re drunk and you’ve only been here for like two months,” Troy retorts.

“Be nice to the rookie!” Scraps says. “That’s a fineable offense.”

“The shit I could get away with if I was sleeping with Parser,” Troy mutters. 

“The shit you get away with because you’re not sleeping with Parser,” Swoops says. 

Kent laughs quietly to himself, feeling his eyes start to droop. Scraps squeezes his hand and offers a sidelong glance. Smiling sleepily, Kent squeezes back and dozes to the sound of the banter. His heart is full. 

(“You _should not_ know that,” Scraps says, sounding horrified. 

“I’m very observant,” Swoops replies. “You won’t be sending me back to the minors with the dirt I have.")

XXXXX

JUNE 2016. 

_I miss you._

Kent stares at his phone and then stares out at the ocean in front of him. Kit purrs happily in his lap. Life is pretty damn perfect here. The plan was for Scraps to fly down at the start of July and they’d spend the rest of the summer together. Distance makes the heart go fonder and all that bullshit. Also, Kent needs some time away from Winnipeg. 

They’d have a few days to themselves before some of their other friends would arrive for Kent’s annual Fourth of July Slash Beach Birthday Bonanza. Troy will probably stick around for a few more days, as usual, before getting sick of them and returning back to his own vacation. Swoops will hang out a bit longer because he doesn’t know any better and Kent won’t have the heart to kick him out. 

It was a plan they discussed at length and agreed to. Kent figured they had at least a 70 percent chance of breaking it. He’s both surprised and impressed they lasted until June. 

Kent sends Scraps back a picture of his view. His response is pretty instantaneous. 

“I figured it was my turn for the spontaneous flight,” Scraps says.

“No chance I’m heading to Winnipeg anytime soon,” Kent says. 

He lifts his sunglasses up as Scraps leans down to kiss him. Scraps shoves Kent’s legs out of the way and makes room for himself on the edge of the lounger. Kit makes a mildly perturbed sound but continues to sleep soundly in Kent’s lap. 

“Miss you too,” Kent says. “I’m glad you’re here. This is a no Falconers zone, by the way.”

“Exactly why I’m here. They’re _this_ close to winning the Cup – no way I’m letting you be alone,” Scraps. “I let you have your mandated space, now I’m here to prevent you from getting trapped in your head.”

When they were ousted in the second round and Falconers blazed on through, the team gave him distance. Scraps put up no argument. Kent accepted it gratefully and retreated to his beach house for the normal post-season cleanse. But as hard as he tried to shut out the Falconers and Jack’s miracle run – it was impossible. Life became hard very quickly. 

“I love you,” Kent blurts. “I mean – thanks for coming. I needed it.”

Scraps rolls his eyes like Kent didn’t just say I love you for the first time. He leans in kisses Kent again. 

“I love you too, idiot,” Scraps murmurs. “Now, Troy is on a collision course with this place. It took a great deal of bartering to make sure I got here first.”

“He worries too much,” Kent says. 

“With good reason,” Scraps says seriously. 

“I’ll be okay. I’m sorting through my shit. The question is, are you okay with all this?”

“I figured we could burn a Zimmermann jersey and nitpick his technique, so it’s an all clear from me,” Scraps says, shrugging. “And I know Zimmermann is an idiot. Otherwise why would he let you go?”

“I love you,” Kent says again. 

“Never stop saying that,” Scraps sighs. “Now we have to hurry before Troy gets here and we scar him forever.”

“It’s too late,” Kent says but lets Scraps pull him up for the chair (they both offer Kit silent apologies). “He dealt with us as teenagers.”

“Fair enough, but I’d rather Troy wasn’t aware of every detail in relationship 2.0.”

Kent laughs all the way bedroom. He’s pretty sure it’s too late for that, but he doesn’t mind all that much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When writing this I had to keep reminding myself that Swoops wasn't Swoops yet and I was very happy once I got to return to the Foursome dynamic I established in Winter Wheat. 
> 
> When this fic existed as a jumble of wordless scenes in my head, three lines gave it life and brought this fic into existence. Regardless of how I feel of the quality of particular scenes, I'm really proud of, what I feel, the effect of these lines.  
> (1) Scraps doesn’t meet him halfway. (2) Under a bannerless ceiling, smelling of something terrible, not yet Parser or Scraps, Kent and Drew make a promise. (3) Kent snuck in to watch Jack. Instead he found Andrew Oyer. It’s a choice he’s never regretted.
> 
> So this fic borrows multiple scenes and ideas I had for an abandoned an AHL AU (In which Jack is drafted first Overall, Kent still goes to the Aces but spends some time developing. Jack becomes local train wreck and is eventually traded to the Aces). In this AU, Kent and Jack didn't play together in the Q - Kent went and played in the WHL with Scraps an they were drafted by the Aces. It also borrows a lot of my unwritten Kent canon (in an on hiatus pre-canon prequel for Winter Wheat), in which Kent excels and improves because he plays with Jack. Maybe one day I'll manage to finish it. 
> 
> Thanks again <3

**Author's Note:**

> The ending was basically me having fun writing the dynamic that inspired this. I just wanted the Aces being friends and I got this. This truly was a labour of love and I hope you all appreciated it, despite it basically being two incredibly minor characters whose personalities were created for my whims. 
> 
> I kind of felt that I wrote myself into a hole and then struggled to get out it. The character trajectory was not one I wanted, but I worked something out that I'm semi pleased with. The middle chunk of the story is the only part I'm 100% pleased with so I may or may not come back to fuss with the other parts. But I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it from start to finish. 
> 
> [Aces' Info (Google Docs)](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YlcEbpN9XS1IqTBl_va3FnwJNVhZ2A5KdFz2-ZaMIMs/edit?usp=sharing)
> 
> [Fic Playlist (Spotify)](https://open.spotify.com/user/eph1sfsykiyyjo0isuo0ipk0d/playlist/3o82p68TTlgQaHBotYdLzQ?si=BqT5L-1kT8ipHKjRWJFJbQ)


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